


Freedom to be

by Quicksilvermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, BDSM, Betrayal, Blindfolds, Bondage, Breathplay, Case Fic, Cheating, Consent, Demisexuality, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, F/M, Guilt, Hate Crimes, Healing, Heavy Angst, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Infertility, Infidelity, Kink Negotiation, Lies, M/M, Pain, Past Child Abuse, Philanthropist Draco, Post-War, Praise Kink, Punishment, Relationship breakdown, Rimming, Self-Discovery, Shibari, Slow Burn, Submission, Therapy, Trauma, Trust, Vibrators, Voyeurism, discussion of canon deaths, dom!draco, sub!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-07-15 01:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 169,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermaid/pseuds/Quicksilvermaid
Summary: Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived.12 years after the war, he's become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends.Only nothing feels perfect.Until one day he stumbles across a club calledReleaseand begins a journey of self-discovery that takes him to a very different place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Seductresses_Temple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seductresses_Temple/gifts).



> This is my first multi chapter Drarry. I'm a long term HP fan but only fell madly, obsessively in love with these two at the start of 2018. 
> 
> This idea sort of grabbed me and didn't let go. It will be a mixture of Auror case fic and personal development, using BDSM as a tool to tell a story.
> 
> I'll be exploring trauma, grief, consent, communication, how abuse in childhood might manifest in later life, dominance and submission and how those are two sides of the same coin in terms of power and control. I'll be looking at the pressures we place on ourselves and that society places on us to live the 'right' life, and how sometimes the people who are the right people for you change. 
> 
> It's going to be deep and dark at times and fun and fluffy at times. I have tagged major topics that may be triggers, and I will also flag at the start of a chapter.
> 
> There will be a very slow burn because slow burn is life. 
> 
> I want to say a huge shout out to the amazing @Seductresses_Temple who answered my internet call out for a fellow Drarry nerd. Meeting you has been wonderful and your ideas for this story have made it a million times better. Thank you for everything.
> 
> And to @theboywiththeskulltattoo/Prissy who is my eternal muse, co-conspiritor and smut talker. Thank you for a brilliant beta read. I'm sorry I'm so rubbish at paragraphs ...
> 
> To my friend since the start of Hogwarts, @youngjinsol <3 the funniest part is knowing I'll still be able to look you in the face when I'm done.
> 
> And to @doubleapple, who reached out at chapter 4 and since has become a very dear friend and the most incredible alpha reader I could have asked for. Thank you so much for challenging me to make this better all the time.

Harry's face hurt. He'd have thought by now that the Chosen Smile would come effortlessly … and most nights it did. But not tonight. Not so close to All Hallows' Eve. He'd known it was a mistake to come. But Kingsley had been insistent. It wouldn't do for the Head Auror - for _Harry Potter_ \- to be missing from the official Recognition of the Human Status of Werewolves and the launch of the Werewolf Rights Act. And he didn't want to let Hermione down either. He spotted her across the room, dominating the conversation of half a dozen Department Heads, Ron at her side, glowing with pride. 

He did want to be there, if only to remember it for Teddy, so he could share the memory when the boy was older. Harry sighed and tilted his drink up, feeling the familiar burn of the firewhisky as it slid down his throat. He placed the now empty glass on the table beside him and was looking through the crowd for one of the many house elves circulating in their smart service robes when he heard a familiar booming voice behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed out a long, slow breath, and then plastered the smile back onto his face and turned.

'Lord Minchum, so glad you could make it tonight. And Lady Minchum. A pleasure.'  
He shook hands with the portly old man, easily resisting the testing pressure squeezed against his hand. The former Minister for Magic laughed, 'Haven't gone soft cooped up in your office then, Mr. Potter?'  
'No, sir,' Harry said easily, 'I make sure to keep in shape, and I'm out in the field with my team on occasion.'  
'Good boy,' Minchum said, slapping his shoulder.  
_Boy_. Harry winced internally, thinking about his upcoming thirtieth. It'd been on his mind more and more lately. A milestone. He found himself wondering again what his parents would have been like at thirty. What they would have been doing with their lives, if they'd had the chance … he wondered what they'd think of him, of the path he'd chosen to take.

He only realised he'd completely lost track of the conversation when Lord Minchum stepped forward, peering into his face with concern. 'I say lad, are you quite alright?'  
Harry shook his head to clear it of the lingering thoughts of his parents and forced the smile back onto his face, but it felt more like a grimace. He could tell the elderly couple opposite him weren't convinced.  
'Please excuse me,' he murmured, turning from them and making his way through the crowd. He snagged another drink from a passing elf with a muttered thanks as he headed for the wide double doors and the balcony outside.

He moved to the edge of the stone balcony and looked down over the softly lit gardens below as he loosened the stiff collar of his formal robes. It didn't matter how often he wore the damned things, they always felt like they were choking him. At least he didn't have to wear full formal dress underneath. He took a deep breath of the cool night air and felt himself relax slightly as he looked at the quiet, still scene beneath him. 

He always liked it when the Ministry chose one of the forfeited Pureblood Houses for their events. They reminded him of Hogwarts in some ways - he could feel the magic brimming in them, tingling against his skin, as though asking for him to draw from it. But there was this sense of agelessness and traditional beauty in the houses and gardens that spoke to him in a different way. The old manors seemed impervious to the multitude of changes that had rocked the world over the last few decades. They endured, timeless and serene.

Sometimes he wondered how much of that was real, and how much of that was the Estates keeping up appearances, as generations of magical owners had trained them to do. In the absence of those owners they carried on, expending their magical energy to preserve themselves beautifully for families who would never return. Harry sipped his whisky and thought of the wild tangle of his own garden at Grimmauld Place. He wondered what the state of that house said about its owners, past and present. Ginny had given up on it years ago. She'd never had much of a green thumb, but Harry found the untamed jumble of life suited his moods some days.

He heard Ron coming before he felt the warm presence at his side. He didn't look over as Ron said, voice teasing, 'Drinking alone in the dark, Harry? I thought we talked about this.'  
Harry smiled, despite himself, and leaned over to nudge against Ron's solid shoulder.  
'Alone is better than with most of that lot,' he said, nodding his head back at the packed room, the noise muted by the muffling charms cast around the building.  
Ron snorted. 'Tell me about it. I don't know how you manage dealing with them all, day in, day out. 'Mione I understand, she talks their language, but you …'  
Harry shrugged. 'It's the job. You know that.'

They'd had this conversation a million times, and Ron clearly wasn't interested in having it again.  
'Where's Gin tonight?'  
Harry paused for a moment, trying to remember the note he'd come home to. 'Out with a friend, I think. Something came up. Something urgent. She said to say hi to you and 'Mione, and to send her love to Rose and Hugo.'  
Ron laughed, 'Her love is fine. It's when she sends gifts that I start to panic. I swear she chooses the most difficult, obnoxiously loud toys on purpose. I can't wait until I can pay her back when you -' He stopped abruptly, a twisted look of sadness coming across his face. 'I mean - shit, sorry mate. I've had too much to drink. I didn't-'

Harry held up a hand, waving him off with a muttered, 'Don't worry about it.' He felt his fragile peace crack and lifted his drink to his mouth, draining it in a single swallow.  
'Let's get another,' he said, clapping Ron on the arm before leading them back to the party. It was speeches next, and it wouldn't do for Harry Potter to be lurking outside in the dark. The _Daily Prophet_ would want him front and centre for the photos, after all.

\-----

'I'm not drunk,' he assured Hermione, as he leaned on the richly upholstered sofa in the sitting room that held the floo connection. She raised an eyebrow at him and he sighed.  
'Okay, fine, so I'm a little drunk. I - I didn't mean to. It's just tonight. With Lupin … and my parents …'  
Hermione's expression immediately softened and she stepped closer, putting a hand out to rub his arm briefly.  
'Thank you for coming. And for all the support you gave me in putting the Act together.'  
Harry laughed softly. 'I drank wine in your office and listened to you rant about case law and discrimination. The credit for this is all yours.'

Hermione laughed too. 'Yes, well, be that as it may, I couldn't have done it without you.' She looked at him seriously again. 'And don't worry about Javier. The man couldn't see sense if it stepped in front of him and slapped him in the face.'  
Harry grimaced, remembering his earlier conversation with Robert Javier, Head of the DMLE and technically his superior, though he dodged the man as often as he could. 

Javier was currently pushing for reforms that would reduce the four-person Auror teams to two, and in some cases one Auror. And Harry just would not have it. He'd fund the bloody extra patrols out of his own vault if he had to. He gritted his teeth at the memory of the conversation. 'If he's not careful, _I'll_ slap him in the bloody face,' Harry muttered. 

Hermione looked to be holding back a laugh as she asked, 'Will you be okay getting home? You sure you don't want me to side-along you?'  
Harry shuddered slightly, pulling his mind away from Javier and feeling his stomach roil at the prospect. Flooing while drunk was bad enough. Apparating while drunk was guaranteed to make him vomit. He shook his head emphatically.  
'I'm fine. It's only a forty five minute walk home and the fresh air will do me good. I don't want to climb in bed with Ginny like this.' He looked across at his best mate, sprawled out on the couch, robes askew. The celebration had wound down an hour ago, with Hermione being one of the last to leave. Harry … wasn't sure why he'd stayed around. 

'Get him home,' he said to Hermione, leaning forward to give her a somewhat clumsy kiss on the cheek. 'I'll floo in the morning to laugh at him.'  
Hermione grinned at that. 'Come for breakfast if you like. The kids would love to see you and Ginny. It's been ages since we've had you both over.'  
Harry nodded absently, pushing her gently away. 'You want a hand with him?'  
Hermione rolled her eyes skyward a moment, before she pulled her wand out, casting a wordless _Rennervate_ on Ron, who blinked and looked around sleepily. 'Was'appenin?'  
Hermione pulled her husband to his feet and put an arm around him, kissing him lightly on the forehead before she said, 'We're going home now. Come on.'  
Harry smiled as he heard Ron's muttered, 'Finally,' and he gave Hermione a wave as she paused to throw the floo powder in.  
'Goodnight Harry,' she said, smiling gently.  
'Night 'Mione,' he said, watching them disappear in a flare of green flames.

When he left the Manor he felt restless. He didn't feel like going straight home. Instead he took a roundabout route that led him through parts of Muggle London he wasn't as familiar with. He was glad he'd transfigured his robes into something that resembled an overcoat as he entered streets that were still busy, despite the fact that it had gone midnight. He could hear the throbbing of music from clubs, and neon signs glowed and flashed. For a while he just watched the people, walking, stumbling, laughing, arms cast around each other, quick presses of mouths and stroking of hands in darkened alcoves. The nightlife had a feeling of wildness to it. Of fun and freedom and the sort of abandon that Harry couldn't remember feeling in so, so long.

He wondered, sometimes, what it would have been like to be Muggle - a Muggle without the Dursleys. To live with no notion of the deadly war that had raged through the wizarding world. To have been a normal boy, with a normal family and a normal life. He might have been any one of these people, out for a drink and a laugh with friends. Wrapped up in the person beside him. Nothing more on his mind than a good time. No appearances to keep up, no obligations to meet.

He sighed, feeling a strange, hollow tugging in his chest, and pushed away from the light post he'd been leaning on. He wandered a while longer, lost in his thoughts, that same restlessness itching under his skin. Years of habit allowed him to ignore the way people's eyes took in his face, flicked over his scar and then lingered. At least with Muggles, the inevitable whispers didn't follow the looks, _It's Harry Potter. Look, mum, that's him. The Golden Boy. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived._ No, with Muggles, he just got the curious looks, the wonder at the lines of pale scars that travelled down over his forehead, across his eye and spilt onto his cheek, like a web of lightning striking against his darker skin.

Some of the looks lingered on more than his scar tonight, but it wasn't until a figure stepped in front of him with a broad smile and a husky, 'Hey stranger,' that he paid any attention. He stopped, pulling himself out of his thoughts. The man in front of him was tall and slim, wearing black jeans that looked as if they were painted on and a sharp, navy shirt that set off his blond hair.  
Harry mustered up a smile and a hello.  
The man stepped in closer, so close that Harry could breathe in the spicy scent of him. 'Want to get a drink?'  
Harry shook his head, 'No. Thanks. I'm - I've had enough tonight.'

The blond man pouted, slanting Harry a look that was filled with heat as his eyes flicked over Harry's chest, through the open front of his overcoat. Harry realised with a faint flush that he was wearing one of his old t-shirts that stretched tight across his chest and arms.  
'You sure? You and I could have some fun.'  
Harry shook his head again, eyes widening slightly as the man's meaning was made clear.  
'No. I - thank you - but I'm married. And - I should be going.' He gave the man a small smile, noting the way his mouth pulled up in a rueful smile in return as he ran his fingers through his white-blond hair.

Harry thought about the Muggle man as he walked away. He felt that same tugging sensation in his chest. It had been a long time since anyone had offered him ... that. He'd long ago made it clear to the legions of fans and potential matches that he'd made his choice and was perfectly happy. The slim lines of the man's body and the clear interest in his eyes ghosted through Harry's mind again. He'd been fit. Harry could admit that. And it wasn't like he'd never _thought_ about it - about men - it's just … there'd never been a time when he could see where the thoughts went. He'd returned from the war to Ginny's welcoming arms eleven years ago, and that had been that. 

He felt that tug in his chest again and then a faint buzz of sensation tingled across his skin. He looked up abruptly to see he was standing in front of a large, grey, stone building. It towered above his head, radiating sleek power. There was a sign in front of his face, a deep black with steely silver writing flowing across it. The words read:

_Release_  
_Come in and let go._  
_Absolute discretion guaranteed._

He looked at it, feeling something shift and click inside him at the thought of letting go. Of release. He felt the ache in his shoulders, the tension in his temples. Through the dissipating haze of the firewhisky he'd drunk that night, he felt the weight of his role, the responsibility of the lives he held in his hands, the pressure of still being the Chosen One, so many years after he'd needed to act. 

He looked at the words again, tracing them with his eyes. _Release_. Something inside him yearned to step into the building. To seek what it was offering. He felt the gentle tug again, softly, almost insistently, as though it was promising him comfort, succour, if he just stepped inside. It was late and he was tired - so tired - and there was just enough alcohol flowing through his system still that he listened to it. He stepped forward, pushing at the large, hardwood door.

It opened with a soundless glide and he blinked at the sight that met his eyes. Inside was a foyer, lit by softly glowing lamps. He could hear music. Something instrumental. Flowing and gentle, yet somehow putting him on edge as well. That same, fizzing restlessness shivered across his senses. His eye was caught by a booth near a set of large, ornately carved doors. Inside was a dark-haired woman who looked across at him with interest. He hesitated slightly and she smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile, but Harry felt drawn to it. He stepped closer, noting her fitted black dress and the red nail polish that matched her lipstick. 

'Welcome to _Release_ ,' the woman said, her voice a silken purr as she looked him up and down. 'My name is Dahlia. How may I help you?'  
'What is this place?' Harry asked, looking around. The interior gave no clues as to what service it provided.  
'It's a Club. A BDSM Club,' Dahlia said. 'We cater to those who feel … bound by the circumstances of their daily lives and seek a safe space to let go.'

Harry felt the words flow over him. Felt that same restlessness rise in him again. He wanted that. Wanted it more than he'd realised. Maybe it was just the time of year - the anniversary of his parents death approaching. Maybe it was the fact that he would be thirty next birthday, and he couldn’t stop thinking that his life wasn't what he had thought it would be by now. Maybe it was the night he'd just had. The same night he'd had every few weeks for the past ten years. 

But something in him - his Auror training … his sense of self preservation … urged him to slow down. To stop and think. He tried to remember if he'd heard the term BDSM before. There'd been a case, years ago, involving a Muggle and a wizard who'd had an explosion of involuntary magic in a place like this. He hadn’t been the Auror assigned to the case, but he remembered some of the stories he'd heard back in the office, about the sorts of things that went on inside establishments like this. He couldn't just walk into some place and hand himself over to them. He smiled, apologetically and turned for the door.

'It's not for everybody,' the woman said behind him, her tone dismissive. Harry stopped. Javier's dismissive voice from earlier in the night echoed in his mind. 'Once you would have leapt at the chance to take more glory, Potter. Look at you now, hiding behind your people, pushing papers around. Perhaps it's time for someone with more fire - more _bravery_ \- to step into the Head Auror role, and make way for the reforms we need to see for the future.'  
Harry gritted his teeth at the memory - at his struggle to force himself to play politics to try get what he wanted in the long term. 

The memory of his impotence fired his blood and he turned back around, rubbing a hand over his stubbled cheek. 'Fuck it,' he muttered under his breath. 'I - tell me more about it.'  
The woman smiled at him and now there was a predatory nature to her gaze. He felt something in him stir in response. Something unfamiliar.

' _Release_ has an exclusive membership policy,' Dahlia said, reaching beneath the desk for a black package, with the name of the club embossed across it in a shining silver. 'All the information you will need is in this envelope. If you choose to take a membership with us, you will be welcome to view any of our public spaces. If you choose to participate, you will be screened and matched with a suitable partner. Do you have any questions?'

Harry took the folder as she handed it to him, rubbing his thumb absently over the smooth surface. He shook his head, trying to resist the urge to open the package and peer inside. She seemed to see his interest because her smile broadened, showing a hint of teeth.  
'I do hope we'll see you back,' she said, her gaze raking over him, more slowly this time.  
Harry felt a tingle of warmth at the blatant interest, but then he hesitated, guilt hitting him thick and fast as he remembered some of the stories. 'This isn't … this isn't a sex club is it?'

Dahlia arched a shapely black eyebrow at him, 'Some of our members do choose to use sex to find release, yes. But this Club is not about sex and no member partakes in any activity they have not explicitly consented to. This place is about freedom, and letting go. It's about release. Pure and simple.'  
Harry nodded, feeling slightly reassured, and then smiled. 'Thanks for your help,' he murmured as he turned to leave. 

He was at the doorway before a final thought occurred to him, and he looked back, searching for any indication of who the club catered to. 'Is this - I'm quite well known in … some circles. Is this a W-' He couldn't quite bringing himself to say the word, but Dahlia seemed to understand, her eyes widening in the first hint of surprise he'd seen from her.  
'This is a Muggle club, as I believe you would call it. We do, however, get the occasional one of your kind passing through. Please indicate your status on the forms if you choose to return them. We will make sure you are appropriately matched based on your … other abilities.'

Harry nodded, the idea that this wasn't a wizarding club setting him at ease. If he could find what he hoped to here … he didn't want the _Prophet_ to get even the slightest hint of it. He stepped back out into the darkness of the night, casting a discrete _Tempus_ and realising to his shock that it was three am. He moved to the shadow of a nearby alley and turned on the spot, disapparating with a familiar hooking sensation.

The house was dark and cold when he let himself in. He toed off his shoes and slipped out of his transfigured robes, chucking them over the back of the couch. He looked down at the package in his hand, tracing his fingers over the embossed writing before setting off up the stairs. He stopped at the landing in front of Sirius' old room and slipped inside. He took only the briefest of looks around, feeling the same dull ache that always assaulted him when he visited this room. He lifted the corner of the mattress and lay the black envelope underneath it, casting it one final glance as he left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Ginny was sound asleep when he entered the room. He watched her in the faint moonlight filtering in through the window in as he dropped his clothes in a pile beside the bed. She looked so peaceful, curled around herself, her hair a firey tangle across the pillow. As he slid into the bed beside her Harry considered for a moment reaching out to wake her, to talk to her about his night, and his mood … but she had a game tomorrow. 

Instead he lay awake a long time, staring into the darkness and thinking about the envelope in the room below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to know your thoughts at that first taste! Please do comment. I love them and will reply to every one (I have problems).
> 
> I'd also love to chat on Tumblr. You can find me at quicksilvermaid
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	2. Chapter 2

When Harry woke the next morning, the bed beside him was empty and his head was pounding. He groaned, squinting against the light spilling in through the opened curtains and rolled over, throwing an arm over his eyes and hoping desperately they weren't out of hangover potion. He could hear clanging from the kitchen downstairs and muttered a wandless _Tempus_ , peering out from under his arm and wincing when he saw it was ten am.

He pushed the covers back and rolled out of bed, glancing down at the floor before deciding it wasn't worth his head to reach down for the discarded t-shirt to slip over his singlet. At least he'd managed to put his pyjama pants on before he'd crashed the night before. He reached for his glasses and moved slowly over to the ensuite, opening the cupboards and grimacing when he didn’t see the familiar blue bottle. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and winced at his hair. It had escaped its usual loose top knot and looked more like a bird's nest, tangled and snarled. He needed a shave too. But all of that could wait. He headed downstairs instead, hoping that Ginny had some of the potion stashed.

She was seated at the kitchen table when he entered and she glanced up with a brief smile before returning to the copy of the newspaper in front of her.  
'Pot of tea's on the stove. I left you some eggs and we're out of hangover potion.'  
Harry sighed and muttered a thanks, moving over to the teapot to pour himself a cup, putting his customary three spoons of sugar in. He leaned against the bench, closing his eyes as he sipped at it.  
'Big night?' Ginny asked, not looking up from the paper.  
'Bigger than I expected,' Harry replied. 'How was yours?'  
'Fine,' Ginny said before folding the paper and getting up. 'My match is at two today. I need to floo across soon to start warmups. You coming?'

Harry nodded, and then flinched as the movement made his head throb. 'I might head to Ron and Hermione's first. I'll be there before the start of the game though.'  
Ginny smiled, stepping closer. 'Sounds good,' she said, placing a brief kiss on his cheek. 'See you later then. Hope you feel better.'  
With that she disappeared out of the kitchen and back upstairs to the room where she kept her brooms and kit.  
Harry moved across to the table and sat down slowly, cupping his drink and listening absently to the muffled thuds from the floor above. 

He let his mind drift back over the night, regretting the amount of firewhisky he'd downed. It always gave him the worst hangovers. He remembered with a lurch his conversation with Javier, and felt his anger stir again. He made a mental note to speak to Kingsley on Monday. Technically he should be abiding by the directions of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but the man was a tosser who was going to get people killed. Harry would not - _could not_ \- let those be his people. He took another sip of his tea, rubbing his temples and thinking through the hours of tedious, politically motivated conversation he'd been immersed in. He didn't think there was anything else he needed to act on, but he resolved to compare notes with Hermione later. She often heard things that people wouldn't say to him.

He yawned, wondering how late it had been when he'd gotten to bed last night, and then his eyes opened wide as he abruptly remembered what he'd done after the event. Flashes of neon lights, busy Muggle streets and then a club - The Club. He felt a shadowy echo of that tug in his gut, pulling him forward and he frowned, as for the first time he considered that maybe he'd been drawn there the night before. He pictured the embossed black envelope hidden in the room upstairs and wondered what it might contain.

In the cold, sober light of day, having taken it seemed crazy. A reckless decision that could have ended far worse than it had. He focussed on how he'd felt the night before, trying to filter the alcohol out of his reactions to remember _why_ he'd been wandering. _Why_ he'd found the place and decided to go in. He drained the last of his tea as he narrowed his eyes, years of work as an Auror in the field helping him to tease out the threads of what didn’t feel right. He remembered the shivering tingle of sensation across his skin as he'd finally approached the building. He remembered the woman at the door - Delia? No, a flower … Dahlia - saying that the club was a Muggle one but that they were familiar with wizards. The more he thought back on the whole encounter, the more he convinced himself something had drawn him there. Some sort of magic was being used to lure unsuspecting people to that Club.

He pushed himself out of the chair and strode back upstairs, passing Ginny's training room and glancing in to see that she'd taken the floo to the Stadium before opening the door to Sirius' room and pulling the slim, black package from under the mattress. He cracked the seal as he walked back downstairs and into his office, scooping up a plate of cold eggs and toast as he did so. He sat down into the plush leather chair at his desk and cleared a pile of files to one side before he tipped the contents of the package onto the surface in front of him.

There were several pieces of paper - some looked like forms, others seemed to have information and photographs printed across them. Harry muttered _Aparecium_ at them. He still didn't feel quite up to doing it wandlessly _and_ wordlessly. He watched for the tell tale glow of magic being revealed and made a soft noise of satisfaction when he saw the barest glimmer across the page. He reached absently for a piece of toast as he moved to the next spell, the modified healing diagnostic that the Auror Department had started to use during the War to identify common types of magic embedded in objects.  
_'Egritudo,'_ he murmured, leaning back in his chair and chewing as he watched the complex charms move over the paperwork on his desk. The readings flared in the air briefly before fading.  
_Possession: Negative_  
_Explosion: Negative_  
_Physical harm: Negative_  
_Relocation: Negative_  
_Coercion: Positive_

Harry eyed the papers more carefully, spreading his fingers to cause them to move apart, so that he could read each without touching it. The topmost was what seemed to be an introductory letter. He skimmed through it.

_Welcome to Release_

_Our Club is for those who feel bound by the circumstances of their daily lives and seek a safe space to let go - to explore their limits and to think in ways different to those they have before, or not to think at all._

_At the basis of everything we do is a reach towards personal fulfilment. Regardless of what it is that we believe might bring that fulfilment, whether dominating or submitting, it is ultimately our own fulfilment that we all seek._

_At Release we use the exchange of power between dominant and submissive roles to teach us to love ourselves enough to be able to accept love, appreciation, pleasure and forgiveness from others._

_At the heart of Release is the understanding that we need to love ourselves to such a degree that we are able to recognize that we are deserving and worthy of the good things that people wish to give us._

_We hope that the desire for release calls to you as strongly as it does to us._

_Samael Ladon  
Master, Release_

Harry ignored the way the words pricked at him … spoke to him. He'd already established that it was a ridiculous idea for him to consider what had been offered, and finding magic layered through the paperwork did nothing to make him change his mind on that count.

He turned his gaze to the two pieces of paper that glowed with the strongest diagnostic results. They were membership forms by the looks of them, covering basic personal details before going into medical and criminal histories. Harry cocked an eyebrow at that. The vetting process was thorough. When he saw the membership fee at the bottom of the page his eyes widened. This was not something that just any Muggle off the street could walk into. If he didn't have his vault he'd be struggling to afford it, even on his Head Auror's salary. Harry shook his head, reminding himself he had no intention of paying the fee, so the value of it was irrelevant.

He turned his attention to the final few pages and felt his breath catch. His eyes widened as he raked his gaze up the sheets, catching on unfamiliar words and images. It was a summary of the equipment, toys and services available at the Club. 

He flicked his gaze from a picture of a large, wooden X frame with leather straps dangling from the ends, to the words _Floggers, Sensory deprivation, Suspension cuffs._ His eyes caught on an image labelled spanking horse and then he saw _Discipline, Collaring, Impact Play._ Throughout it all he could see the repeated theme of _consent, hard limits, safety_. He sat staring a moment longer, caught up in the range of information before him, then waved his hand impatiently, shuffling the paperwork back into the envelope before heading upstairs. 

He showered quickly, mind on what he needed to do next. Clearly there was a rogue wizard who was using his power to attract unsuspecting Muggles for what basically amounted to torture. All this talk of consent and freedom and release was clearly just that: talk. Harry berated himself for even considering there might be something there that would quiet that restlessness in his chest. 

As he toweled himself down, he resolved to have Mrs. Norris run the name Samael Ladon as soon as she was back on Monday. He knew from past experience that requesting his head secretary to do anything over the weekend would land him in a world of pain. Ron had thought it was hilarious when Harry first got the job and told him that his sixty year old assistant's name was Mrs. Norris. It had taken Harry approximately half a day to decide that she was even more omnipotent than old Filch's cat and that he _did not_ want to cross her.

He dressed in a pair of black jeans and a collared shirt, slipping his Auror badge into his pocket and strapping his wand into his forearm holster. He went back into his office briefly to check the nearest apparition point and then turned in place, disapparating from the house with a _crack_.

\------

Everything looked different in the daylight. The street was quieter, though the building looked just as impressive and imposing as Harry approached it. He realized with a twinge that, it being a Sunday morning, they may not be open and, being a Muggle establishment, he had no legal basis to push his way in. He ignored the small voice whispering in the back of his mind, that even if it had been a wizarding business, he would still require proper justification … if he was even allowed to perform the visit himself.

To his relief, the door opened under his hand just as smoothly as it had the night before. Surprisingly, the woman who greeted him was the same woman as well.  
'Back so soon,' she said with a smirk. 'My, my, you are eager.'  
Harry held up a hand to cut her off. 'I need to speak to the owner, Mr. Ladon. Immediately.'  
Dahlia raised an eyebrow. 'You don't give the orders in here, pet.'

Harry reached into his pocket, pulling out his badge. The woman glanced at it, clearly not recognizing the unfamiliar logo of the Aurors.  
'Your boss is a wizard?' Harry guessed.  
Dahlia gave nothing away, eyes meeting his coolly.  
'You tell him Head Auror Harry Potter is here and his presence is required immediately.'  
Dahlia held his eyes a moment longer, before reaching for a cellphone and clicking a number.

Within seconds she was murmuring into it. Harry could only catch snippets, but what he did hear made him smile grimly.  
'Harry Potter - yes, that's what he said. Yes, here now. Gave him a pack last night. Auror?'  
She hung up after a few moments. 'Mr. Ladon will be here shortly. He asked that I show you through to the blue room while you wait.'  
Harry inclined his head in thanks, senses on high alert. It occurred to him, belatedly, that perhaps he should have flooed through to Ron and Hermione or left a note for Ginny, about where he was going.

The 'blue room' was a medium sized room with pale blue walls, which was decorated with couches and low tables. There was a bar in one corner and everything about it spoke of money and taste. Harry felt like he could have been in any other high end club … apart from the artwork. There were half a dozen black and white pieces spread across the walls and he couldn't help the way his eye was drawn from one to another. Each of the subjects was a person, engaging in some act that he could only assume the club provided for. He expected to see pain and agony on their faces … but what he saw instead held his gaze. 

There was a man, kneeling, captured from behind. He was clearly naked and had his arms bound behind his back. He was powerfully muscled, but every line of his body was relaxed, at ease. He looked as though he could hold his position for hours … would like nothing more than to do so.

Harry's eyes moved next to an image of a woman. She was suspended on the cross he'd seen in the brochure and her eyes were covered. Her mouth was opened slightly and her body was on display, taut with anticipation, as though expecting the next blow. He wondered, for just a moment, what it would be like to surrender yourself so completely. Then he pulled his eyes away, to see a picture of a man's hips and thighs, bound by the most intricately beautiful knots and ropework he had ever seen. He took a step closer, wanting to see it in more detail, when he was interrupted by a low cough.

He whirled, embarrassed to have been caught unaware, and took in the sight of the man who had just entered the room. Samael Ladon looked to be in his late thirties, a few inches taller than Harry was, with jet black hair and high, aristocratic cheekbones. He was dressed in a modification of a sharp Muggle suit, buttoned to the neck, and he exuded class and power. But it was his eyes that caught Harry's attention. They were a hard, icy blue, and they were fixed unwaveringly on him.

'Head Auror Potter,' he drawled, not a hint of warmth in his voice. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?' The expression on his face didn't change and Harry paused for a moment, gathering his words. Something told him this was a man very used to getting his way. A word from the information he'd read earlier flashed through his mind. _Dominant_.

'Mr. Ladon?' Harry queried. When the man inclined his head slightly Harry continued. 'I'm here to investigate the improper use of magic in the attraction and coercion of Muggles,' he said, stepping closer.  
Ladon's lips twitched for a moment, as though he wanted to sneer, but he caught his response, only saying, 'Let us cut to the chase, Head Auror. Though I highly doubt you have the authority to look into anything I do, I would like this _investigation_ to be over as quickly as possible and for you to leave my premises with just as much haste. Yes, I use magic to attract people - Muggle and wizard - to my Club. It is a completely legal modification of a siren spell. The same that most wizarding establishments use to attract their clientele. It's harmless.'

Now he paused, looking Harry up and down with a hint of a smirk hovering on his lips. 'My partner tells me _you_ were drawn here by it last night, Mr. Potter. Would it help your "investigation" if I told you the spell exclusively targets people who require our services?'  
Harry felt shock rush through him and couldn't help the way his eyes flicked back to the image of the man, hands bound. He tore his gaze away. 'I'll need to see your permits,' he said instead, forcing his face into the impassive Auror's mask he'd cultivated over the last decade.  
'Of course,' Ladon replied, tone icy again.  
'And the paperwork you send out?' Harry asked. 'There are coercion spells on it.'

Ladon raised an eyebrow. 'Got curious, did we, Mr. Potter?'  
Harry gritted his teeth but forced himself to speak calmly. There was something about this place, about the unruffled confidence of the man in front of him, that made him feel off balance, like he only had half of the information he needed to make decisions. 

'I ran a diagnostic on your paperwork after I realized you were luring unsuspecting victims to your club.'  
For the first time, emotion flashed across Ladon's face, hot and fast. 'Do _not_ speak about what you do not understand, Mr. Potter. There are no victims here. There is trust and safety and consent above all else.' Ladon's jaw was clenched and his eyes were dark with anger.

Harry crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow in turn. 'Why do you need coercion spells on the paperwork then, if not to trap people once they've entered?'  
He saw Ladon take a deep breath and force the calm back onto his face. There was another beat and his voice was cool again - detached - when he spoke. 'The membership forms are imbued with a variant of veritaserum. It requires the applicant to truthfully answer the questions posed. Nothing more. It's there to screen out those with the money to enter, but the motives that mean they will be a danger to the club and those within it.'

'Like who?' Harry asked before he could stop himself.  
Ladon regarded him for a long moment, before deciding to speak. 'When I first established this Club -' He cast a glance at Harry's querying look. 'Seven years ago. When I first established this Club, seven years ago, there were a number of … incidents. Involving Muggles, who didn't understand that consent was sacred and that they couldn't use this space to further some agenda of accessing unwilling people as their playthings.' He raised a hand, 'Not that there is not a place for that - but it must always be negotiated and consented to. So I developed the forms, to gather a person's true intent and their background before they are granted entry.'

Harry knew his skepticism showed on his face. Ladon made an impatient gesture. 'Your labs will tell you the same thing once they've analysed the forms.' Then he paused, eyes ghosting over Harry's face.  
'That's presuming you _do_ show them the forms, Mr. Potter.' His look became knowing, somehow sharper. Harry felt something stir within him at it. The man was striking, with his ebony hair and chiseled features. Everything about him spoke of power and control. Harry looked away first, cursing himself as he did so - it was one of the first interrogation techniques they taught: holding eye contact shows dominance. Ladon glanced down with the faintest of smiles, at the chrome wristwatch he wore. 'Do you have more questions or are we done?'

Harry felt wrong-footed at the comment. He would take the forms into work - he should - to verify the claims. But how would he explain how he'd gotten them … and why he needed them checked? His subtle concession to the man in front of him pricked at Harry. Before he could think better of it, he said, 'I'd like to take a look around before I leave.'

Ladon's eyes came back up to meet Harry's and he raised an eyebrow. 'I just bet you would, Head Auror Potter,' he said, his voice dropping into that same low drawl. 'I would like to point out to you that you have absolutely no authority to inspect these premises, and that my meeting with you currently - without the presence of my lawyer - is purely a courtesy.'

Harry opened his mouth to argue - though what he would say escaped him - but Ladon held up a hand. Harry remained silent - something in the absolute way the man expected his command to be heeded made it difficult for him to do otherwise.  
'However, Mr. Potter,' Ladon said smoothly, his eyes taking on a spark of heat as he glanced up and down Harry's body. 'I have not forgotten that you were called here last night. It would be my pleasure to show you what our Club can offer.'  
Harry flushed at the slight emphasis placed on the word 'pleasure', 'That's not what I -'  
Ladon's face held that same knowing look as he gestured at the door.  
'Follow me.'

\------

Harry was sitting in his office, glass of whisky in hand, and staring out at the tangle of the garden in the gathering darkness when he received the Patronus. The familiar silver mare galloped into the room, pulling up short before him.  
'We won. The team's going out tonight. I'll see you after work tomorrow.'  
The mare faded away, the echo of Ginny's voice going with it.

Harry sat up straight and cursed. The game! He'd forgotten all about the damned game. He considered going out, finding Ginny and apologising … but he knew she didn't like it when he made a scene. He decided he'd cook her favourite the next night - lamb shanks on mash - and made a mental note to tell Mrs. Norris to clear his evening appointments so he could be home by seven.

He tilted the glass up and drained it with a sigh, slumping back into his chair and eyeing the black envelope that was sitting in the middle of his desk again. His thoughts strayed back to the images that had been swirling around in his mind ever since he'd returned home. Mostly he couldn't pull himself away from the emotion in the face of the woman in the picture. She'd looked so free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this all planned out ... and then Harry decided he was going to investigate the club, so major parts of the story and Harry's characterisation are going to be re-framed. But I think it will work just as well.
> 
> Would love to know what you thought! Hit me up here or on Tumblr (quicksilvermaid)


	3. Chapter 3

Draco allowed himself a gracious smile. He felt like jumping around the gilded room, shouting his satisfaction. But that would be unseemly. If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was how to hide the extent of your success behind polite words and a neutral expression. 

He reached out to shake hands with Mrs Fawley. 'I am _so_ glad I ran into you again,' he murmured, holding her hand just a moment too long. 'If only to save you the ... _malheur_ of being one of the few families left to pledge.'  
Mrs Fawley smiled back at him, though her smile looked sickly.  
'Of course, Mr Malfoy. I - it was surely fate.'  
Draco squeezed her hand before letting go with another smile.  
'If you'll excuse me,' he said, inclining his head gracefully. The older woman couldn't hide the flash of relief that crossed her features, and Draco had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he turned away.

Fate indeed. He had been watching the Fawley widow for months now, working his way through her social circle one by one. Through a careful word in a certain ear, a helpful suggestion in another, and the sense that everyone around her was a part of it, she'd finally fallen. 

Draco reached for a glass of elf-made wine from a passing house elf and sipped it, closing his eyes for a moment as though he was savouring the taste. He let his success wash through his mind. _One million galleons._ He'd netted Mrs Fawley for one _million_ galleons. 

He opened his eyes again and saw Blaise across the crowded parlour. He was dressed in a set of deep blue robes, open at the front, and a creamy white shirt that set off his dark skin stunningly. Blaise raised a questioning eyebrow and Draco nodded his head fractionally, letting his triumph show on his face for the briefest of seconds. Blaise flashed him a dazzling smile in return and pushed away from the table he'd been leaning against. Draco saw his mouth move as he made his apologies to the couple he'd been speaking to. 

Mr and Mrs Avery were hardly worth Blaise's time - they were still recovering from the post-war reparations owed by their family - but one never knew when the right relationship could come in handy. Draco watched a moment longer as Blaise sought out Mrs Fawley, detouring to collect a glass of the honeyed mead she was so partial too. As he touched her arm gently, Draco marvelled again at what the full charm of Blaise Zabini could do to an unsuspecting woman - or man, he reflected bitterly, before pushing the thought away. Mrs Fawley was already far more relaxed, and her face was losing the hunted look she'd sported moments earlier. 

Draco moved to the large bay windows overlooking the garden and positioned himself _just so_ , in a way that he knew would cast the light over his features and glimmer through his hair. Mrs Fawley had been the dragon at this afternoon's soiree, but if he played his cards right, he might net himself a few plimpies as well. 

He tilted his glass up, knowing that the curve of his body was drawing more than one eye.  
When he saw Geraldine Shafiq making her way over to him, his great-Aunt Belvina Burke trailing behind her, he hid another smile. People were so predictable. Push the right buttons and you could make them do whatever you wanted. 

'Draco,' said the older woman, tucking a greyed curl behind her ear as she smiled up at him. 'Geraldine and I were just talking about the last time you hosted a ball at the Manor and she said we simply must come over.'  
The golden-skinned woman beside her smiled shyly. 'I was saying I was sorry to have missed it. I was out of the country most of last year.'  
Draco swiftly evaluated what he knew of the young woman in front of him and decided a direct approach would suit her best. That, laced with a touch of flattery …

'India,' he said with a smile, 'I heard.' Never mind that he had heard through his contact in the Ministry, who, in exchange for access to his exclusive parties, supplied him with a list of the international comings and goings of all of Britain's magical population. It was amazing what could be pieced together when you had access to the whole picture. 

His smile deepened. He may not have Blaise's charisma, but he knew how to convey his focus and attention with his eyes, and nowadays, his attention was highly sought out.  
'And did you find the establishment of a new import channel for Basilisk Venom was worth the time it took you?'  
His guess that the recent flooding of the Knockturn Alley market with the rare - and illegal - poison had been due to the Shafiq's Indian trip was proven true when her eyes opened wide in surprise.  
'Y-Yes, it was, thank you,' she said, glancing across the room to where her husband stood conversing with Priscilla Dupont from the International Magical Trading Standards Body.

Draco smiled pleasantly, as though unaware that he had just outed the woman in front of him as an illegal potions importer.  
'I was just thinking of hosting another Ball, with winter approaching,' he mused, as though picking up on the initial approach the women had made. 'I'm considering a Phoenix Level entry at this one - one hundred thousand galleons.'  
He paused, as if struck by sudden inspiration, looking at Geraldine. 'Perhaps you and Mr Shafiq might be interested, given your recent success,' he said with a wide smile, gesturing to her husband, who was still speaking to the Ministry official. 

Geraldine followed his gaze and then pulled her eyes back to Draco, who took another sip from his drink, focussing his eyes on the woman.  
'I - of - of course,' she said, swallowing audibly. 'We would be pleased to. I look forward to it. Please - please excuse me,' she said, voice faint as she turned and made her way to her husband. 

Aunt Burke turned to him, shaking her head. 'Such a beautiful girl. It's a shame she's already snapped up.'  
Draco tensed slightly as she looked around the room. The woman had watched not just him, but his mother grow up, and every now and again she saw fit to make the sort of comment he feared she would now.  
'You know there are still lots of respectable young women from good, pureblood families. My great-granddaughter- '  
'There are,' Draco interrupted, tone colder than he'd meant it to be. 'But I'm not looking.'  
'A boy like yours needs a mother,' Belvina said, shaking her head sadly. 

Draco felt anger run though him at the mention of his son by the old woman - someone who may have known him as a child, but who had _no idea_ -  
'Scorpius is doing very well,' he said, forcing himself to say it politely. Forcing a pleasant smile onto his face. His great-Aunt was also his key to many social circles. He couldn't afford to get her off-side.  
'I'm sure, dear,' she said, patting him on the arm. 'But there's just something about a mother's love -'

'He remembers his mother's love,' Draco said suddenly, 'I show him memories of her all the time.' Instantly he regretted the words, as he saw her eyes fill with sympathy and she reached out to hold his hands gently.  
'Oh, dear boy. You don't have to replace her, but it's been three years since Astoria passed. At some stage you do need to move on.'  
Draco felt a stabbing sense of loss in his chest at the sound of his wife's name. It took all of his enforced Malfoy conditioning not to let the pain show on his face. 

'Thank you, Auntie Burke,' he said in a voice that only wavered slightly. He didn't think anyone but his closest friends could have picked up on it. He disengaged his hands. 'If you'll excuse me. I must keep circulating. I have a Ball to plan, after all.' He forced fake cheerfulness into his voice.  
'Of course, dear. I look forward to it. I do so love visiting the Manor - of course it's not what it was when Narcissa was its Mistress, but then we can't blame your father for that, can we? The place is too big for just one man to care for.'  
The underlying message was clear. _You should move back home to take proper care of your ancestral House._  
Draco's smile turned brittle and when he murmured 'Of course,' it was through gritted teeth. 

Suddenly he'd had enough. Enough of people, enough of the game. Even his earlier success tasted hollow. What did the million matter? There would always be a need for more. His head was swirling and he felt restless, as if he was stuck in his own skin. He looked around the room, spotting their host, Mrs Nott and moved across to make his farewells, claiming he had business to see to. One must always keep up appearances after all. Blaise raised an eyebrow at him as he passed, but Draco shook his head minutely, indicating his partner should stay. They tried not to emphasise their friendship in public. It served them both better to be seen as mere acquaintances.

He stood for a moment at the entrance to the floo, a handful of power clenched in his fist, and wondered just where he should go. The Manor crossed his mind for the briefest second and he grimaced. He wasn't due his monthly visit to that hellpit for another two weeks. He thought of his townhouse and another glass of elf-made wine - or maybe a bottle. Really let himself lose control ... He felt the restless prickle under his skin at the thought of control. But he pushed that away. He didn't want to go there either ... Not so soon after -

Instead he threw the powder and said 'Parkinson Estate'.

\-----

When he stepped out of the floo, he could hear a scream of laughter, followed by a chilling cackle of noise. Then more laughter and thudding footsteps. He looked up at the ceiling above him, feeling some of the tension leave his body at the sounds. He made his way slowly through the familiar house, feeling again that sense of comfort and warmth that seemed to fill the Parkinson House, large though it was. It was something he didn't know if he'd ever truly felt at the Manor. He let that thought go, determined not to dwell on the things that Aunt Burke had stirred to life.

When he entered the drawing room upstairs he expected to see Mr or Mrs Parkinson with Scorpius. They were both wonderful with him, treating him like the grandchild they didn't yet have - would never bloody have, if you asked Pansy. He often came to collect Scorpius from the Estate and found either of them embroiled in some detailed game with him. What he walked in on instead made him stop dead in his tracks, eyes wide and startled.

Then he smiled, slow and deep, and leaned against the doorway to take it all in. Scorpius was the one screaming and laughing, jumping all over the furniture as he scrambled to escape from the figure chasing him … the figure dressed in what looked like ratty, old curtains … the figure with wild bushy hair, a scarlet mouth that stretched over half her face and with bats wings flapping from the side of her head … the figure who's evil cackle of laughter cut off abruptly as she looked up and saw Draco lounging in the doorway, a smirk spread across his face.

Pansy straightened abruptly, patting uselessly at her frizzy hair. She flinched as a bat wing flapped at her hand and pulled her wand out, pointing it at her face, while not breaking eye contact with Draco. In an instant, the wings disappeared, the hair returned to its sleek, black bob and the excess of makeup over her lips returned to its perfectly defined deep red.

'Draco,' Pansy said, voice striving for a calm dignity that was ruined by the fact that she was still draped in ragged old curtains and had been chasing his child around like a banshee seconds earlier.  
'Pansy,' Draco returned, the glee evident in his voice making it clear that this memory would be shared at some point in the future where it was guaranteed to cause the most embarrassment.  
Pansy raised an eyebrow as though reading his thoughts and daring him. At that moment Scorpius realised he wasn't being chased anymore and whipped his head around, spotting Draco with a high pitched squeal of, 'Papa!'

He ran across the couches and launched himself at Draco with the absolute trust of the young. Draco caught him easily, swinging the boy up into his arms and letting Scorpius wrap his legs around him. Draco rubbed his cheek over his son's soft, white-blond hair, breathing in the scent of him. His chest twinged at the thought that Scorpius would be five soon and it wouldn't be too much longer before the boy would be too big for cuddles like this.

'You're back early,' Pansy said, shrugging out of her makeshift costume. Draco took the hint that he wasn't to speak of what he had witnessed. He gave her one last look that told her he wouldn't be forgetting it and then shrugged.  
'I achieved what I needed to. Fared better than I expected, actually, and decided I'd head back here to see my favourite people in all the world,' he said, squeezing Scorpius and making him giggle.  
Pansy raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow and said nothing.

They made their way along the hall, down the staircase, through the lounge and into the kitchen and still she'd said nothing. Draco could practically feel her eyes boring into his head. He glanced back at her as he let Scorpius down into a chair. Her gaze was implacable and expectant.  
'Oh fine!' he snapped, 'Old Auntie Burke decided it had been too long since she last told me all the things I was doing wrong in life and after that I decided I had had enough party for one day,' he said, flicking his wand at the kettle with a glare of remembered frustration.

'What'd you do wrong, Papa?' Scorpius asked, leaning back on his chair to look up at him.  
'What did you do wrong?' Draco corrected automatically. Then he sighed, pulling himself together and running a gentle hand over his son's hair. 'Nothing. Great-aunt Burke just forgets to mind her business sometimes.'  
He forced a smile. 'Have you had lunch?'  
The boy nodded eagerly. 'Aunt Panny made biscuits. Chocolate ones, made like dragons. I had _six_ ,' he said with a wide grin.

' _Six_ ,' Draco said with mock amazement, turning his wide-eyed gaze on Pansy and letting a hint of judgement enter it. 'Six chocolate dragons for lunch. No wonder you have so much energy!'  
Some of the familiar smugness entered Pansy's face and she lifted a hand to her mouth. 'Oh no, is that too much chocolate, Draco? I do hope he's not a handful tonight.'  
Draco narrowed his eyes but was interrupted by Scorpius' piping voice. 'I'm not a handful! Are we playing some more? I want to play Heir to the Castle again!'

Draco shook his head. 'No, we're going home soon. Why don't you go find Justin while I have a cup of tea with Aunt Panny and then we'll go, alright?'  
Scorpius' eyes lit up at the mention of the yappy little crup that was the only thing on the Estate that could outrun him. He slipped off the seat, disappearing out the door a moment later.

The kettle boiled and Draco turned back to it, flicking his wand to bring cups floating out of the cupboard, followed by the fine leaf tea the Parkinson's liked.  
'He's been good this afternoon?' Draco asked, as he sent Pansy's cup across to where she was sitting at the table.  
She shrugged easily. 'He's always good. You know that.'  
Draco sighed, feeling some of the tension enter his shoulders again at the reminder of his Aunt's words. _'A boy like yours needs a mother.'_

Pansy pursed her lips, curling her hands around the cup. 'Come on, out with it. What did the old hag say to you this time?'  
Draco shook his head. 'Nothing she hasn't said before,' he muttered, taking a sip of the scalding hot tea to distract himself.  
Pansy merely waited, watching him the way a potioneer might study a particularly interesting ingredient. He hated that look. She'd used it on him with deadly accuracy since they'd been children and she'd decided she was the boss because she was older. Draco fidgeted under her gaze in a way he did with no one else.  
'I got old Mrs Fawley to hand over a million galleons,' he said abruptly, squaring his shoulders and putting his Malfoy face back on.  
Pansy barely blinked. 'That's wonderful, Draco. What did batty Burke say to you?'  
He sighed, picking at a tiny chip in the side of his teacup. 'Fine. She told me I'm incapable of raising Scorpius alone, I need to get over Astoria and shack up with some pretty young pureblood and I'm a terrible son who doesn't deserve the title of Malfoy heir. Is that enough for you?'

Pansy winced and took a sip of her tea, placing the cup back on the table. 'You know, she does have a point, Draco.'  
Draco's head whipped up and he felt anger surge through him.  
Pansy waved her hand at his look. 'Oh stop it. Not about you raising Scorp obviously. You're a wonderful Dad and you're doing a much better job than your parents -' she stopped short, eyeing him instead of continuing what she'd been about to say. 'As for your father, if she's so concerned about him and that dusty old Manor, maybe she should bloody go and live there with him. Honestly, that man would try anyone's last nerve.' She shuddered in mock disgust.

'No, I mean … well - it's been a long time now,' Pansy said bluntly, looking over at him. 'You dodge the issue any time Blaise or I try and discuss it with you. We - everyone - we just want you to be happy.'  
'I am happy,' Draco said immediately, a knee-jerk reaction to the words.  
'No, Dray, you're not,' Pansy said, looking up at him as he stood leaning against the counter-top, teacup clutched in front of him. 'You - you're not made to be alone. I know you -'  
'I'm not alone,' Draco interrupted, bristling. 'I have Scorpius and you and Blaise and -'  
Pansy continued as though he wasn't still speaking. 'That's not the same as having someone - a partner. I don't think you've been truly happy since she passed - before that even, before she got sick.' Pansy raised a hand as Draco opened his mouth to object. 'And that's okay. You loved her. We _all_ did. What happened was a tragedy … but it's been three years, Draco. At some point you need to open yourself up again ...'

Pansy paused, eyes searching Draco's face, then she seemed to decide that there'd been far too much sappiness for one afternoon because she sniffed loudly and curved her lips into a wicked smile. 'Besides, there's only room in this friendship circle for one devastatingly gorgeous single person on the hunt. You cramp my style moping around all unattached.'

Draco forced a smile onto his face in response, forced himself to ignore the way her words pricked at him - the truths they whispered, which he had been so sure he had hidden. He projected nothing but Malfoy pride and disdain. Those were emotions he could do.  
'You think _you're_ the devastatingly gorgeous single person in this social circle?' he returned instead, voice cutting. 'If it's not me, it's sure as Merlin not you. Have you forgotten that the notorious ladykiller Blaise Zabini graces us with his presence?'  
Pansy rolled her eyes, voice teasing, though it lacked its usual bite, as though she was pushing herself to put on just as much of a front, to move back to the familiar snipe and snark. 'I forget nothing. Including _just_ how devastatingly handsome you found one Blaise Zabini in fifth year. Or was it fourth?'

Draco turned up his nose at her, easily ignoring the long-dulled ache of his feelings for his old school friend, now business partner. 'I can't be blamed for the foolishness of my youth.'  
'Youth?' Pansy said, with an arch look. 'If Blaise wasn't so busy chasing every piece of skirt -'  
Draco held up a hand and Pansy stopped, sighing again, looking him in the eyes and dropping the haughty expression. All of a sudden her voice was real and Draco knew that his Malfoy mask hid nothing from Pansy - it never did. 'All I'm saying is go out some time and have some fun. Have a fuck. Whatever you need. Just open up a little.'  
Draco shook his head, dropping his gaze from hers and running one finger around the edge of his teacup. 'You know it's not as easy as that, Pans. You know I don't do casual hook-ups.'

Pansy rolled her eyes. 'I've never understood that. You know I haven't. Who needs to be in love before they can get it up for someone? It's like you're a fairy tale princess waiting for his one true love.' She held up her hand to forestall the snarky rejoinder she knew was coming. 'All I'm saying is you're never going to meet someone to get all emotionally involved with if you don't put yourself out there.'

Draco tilted his cup back instead of answering, draining the last of his tea. Today had been enough - too much. He moved over to the table and dropped a quick kiss onto Pansy’s glossy, black hair.  
‘Thanks for watching Scorpius for me,’ he said as he made his way out of the kitchen in search of his son.

‘Go on a date sometime, will you!’ she called after his retreating figure.  
Draco didn’t turn back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _malheur_ is French for misfortune.
> 
> Would love to know your thoughts on this chapter ... was this the Draco you thought we'd be seeing?


	4. Chapter 4

Harry was in the office at half six on Monday morning. If he was going to make it home in time to cook for Ginny, he needed to clear as many items from the 'Urgent' pile as possible. He eyed the thing with distaste. It was flashing neon and sporadically said things like, 'Don't delay, do it today', and 'Lunch can wait, the Minister can't.' He hated it. It reminded him of the homework planners Hermione used to foist onto him and Ron in school.

Harry was well aware of how behind he was, and having an obnoxious filing tower pointing this out to him when he was right in the middle of a conversation didn't often put him in the best frame of mind to achieve said tasks. But the thing was stuck to his desk and no amount of charms had yet managed to remove it. He'd even tried to get rid of the desk one day, but Mrs Norris had spotted him and given him such a glare that he'd guiltily expanded it, placed it back into the centre of the room and sat back at it. He half suspected she'd gotten sick of his habit of losing paperwork and had installed the damned filer herself.

Harry sighed, pushed his glasses up and rubbed a tired hand over his eyes as he reached for the item at the top of the pile. He pulled it onto his desk with a thud and glanced at the title. _Review of Progress in the Review of the Identification, Control and Containment of Incorrectly Assigned Magical Protection prepared by the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects_.  
He stifled a groan as he flipped to the back of the sheaf of papers to check the page count. It was four hundred and eighty pages long. Buggering fuck.

He pushed up from his seat and made his way out of his office, past Mrs. Norris' empty desk and into the Auror HQ break room. He could see rows of empty desks through the window, with one or two of the night shift members gazing listlessly at documents as they counted down the minutes to seven am. He collected a teabag and held his cup under the 'MagiBoil', staring blankly at the 'Chosen Mug' and his fifteen year old face holding up an intake number before his Wizengamot trial. Ron had thought it was hilarious when he'd unearthed the photo one day when he'd come in to help Harry with his Junior Auror filing workload. Harry'd featured prominently on the Department's Most Wanted wall for half a year … until a series of disappearances related to the purchase of heirloom jewellery from a forfeited pureblood house had bumped the joke off the board.

He put an extra scoop of sugar in on top of his normal three, hoping it would help wake him up, and walked slowly back to his desk. He took a sip of his tea, then leaned back in his chair, putting his boots up on the edge of the desk, flipping the top page of the report and taking up his quill. Thirty seven minutes and twelve pages later, he found his thoughts straying back to his visit to _Release_ the day before. The memory swirled through his mind. 

\----

Ladon moved towards the door he'd entered from and Harry stepped forward, not wanting to be trailing him around the club. The man had been fiddling with his cufflinks, so Harry had pulled the door open, holding it from common courtesy. It wasn't until Ladon gave him a sharp-edged smile and a murmured, 'Well done,' as he passed through that Harry realised he'd just been tested again. He wasn't sure whether he'd passed or failed. 

The room they entered was much larger and more darkly coloured, featuring greys and blacks and a deep burgundy. There was a round, knee-height stage in the centre of the room, with a metal grid suspended from the ceiling above it, and tables and couches scattered all around. In the far corner was another bar.  
Harry looked around and Ladon answered his unspoken question.  
'This is our public space. Patrons can choose to exhibit or to voyeur, based on their preferences.'  
He leaned one hip on the back of a sleek, black couch and crossed his arms loosely, the very picture of relaxed confidence. Harry glanced at him, thinking he looked like a panther, dark and sleek and dangerous, and then pulled his gaze away to continue his analysis of the room. He wanted to cast a diagnostic spell and wondered if he could get Ladon to leave him alone for long enough to do it.

'Do you like to be watched, Head Auror Potter?'  
The question came out of nowhere and Harry whipped his back around to look at Ladon, who now wore the hint of a smile.  
'What - I - no,' Harry said, unaccountably flustered.  
'You like to watch then?' Ladon asked, raising an elegant eyebrow. He continued before Harry could respond. 'That would make sense given your … profession. Undertaken many stakeouts, have you Mr. Potter? Watched through the curtains as your criminal bent his wife over the kitchen table? Listened as she told him she wanted it harder. Deeper -'  
'No!' Harry interrupted, not sure why his heart was suddenly beating so fast and why the image that Ladon had just raised wouldn't leave his mind.  
'No,' he continued, more calmly. 'I've never watched anyone doing - that.'  
'But you'd like to, wouldn't you?' Ladon said, turning away from him to glide his hand over the back of the couch. 'You'd like to be laid back on this couch, the darkness hiding you from view, as you watch someone being taken to pieces.' He glanced back over his shoulder and his eyes were dark and hard. Harry felt a shiver run through him at the words. He wanted to protest, but as he opened his mouth, Ladon turned his gaze back to the stage. He clapped his hands and ropes unspooled from the metal grid hanging above the stage. They dropped into place, swaying softly. Harry found his gaze drawn to them.

'Do you like to _give_ pain?' Ladon asked, watching the ropes as well. 'Does the idea of tying up a willing body and whipping them until they beg you to stop - until they beg you for more - make something stir inside you?'  
Harry frowned at the question. He couldn't - he didn't - Ladon looked back at Harry shrewdly and then shook his head slowly.  
'No? No, of course not. Harry Potter - The Chosen One, The Golden Boy - is not a sadist. Everything you've ever done has been to stop pain, hasn't it? To stop the damage against those you care about - against the innocent.'  
Heat came into his eyes as he watched Harry. He turned fully around and took a step closer. Harry found himself somehow held by the intensity of the man's hard, blue eyes as they came face to face.  
'Could it be that Harry Potter - big, strong, commanding Head Auror Harry Potter - wants to let go? Is that it, Mr Potter? Have you come to receive, rather than give? Do you want to be tied to these ropes, arms above your head, barely able to touch the ground? At my mercy while I make you count the blows?'  
Harry's eyes flicked back to the ropes. He watched them swaying slowly. He watched them and he imagined them wrapped around his wrists. Imagined being helpless. Imagined _choosing_ to be helpless. Imagined the lick of the lash. He shivered and felt his heart beat faster.

'You do,' Ladon breathed. 'Sweet Circe, you do.'

\---

Harry was jerked back to the present by the bang of the door as Mrs Norris made her customary entrance. He shook his head slightly and glanced at the clock: 7.30am. Right on time. A moment later she poked her head into his office.  
'An early start today, Mr Potter,' she nodded her head approvingly.  
'Yeah,' he agreed, 'I've got plans tonight. I need you to clear my calendar for anything after six, please.'  
'You have a meeting with the Pureblood Reparation Society at six, Mr Potter.'  
Harry snorted. 'Good. Put that one off. Curse dodged.'  
Mrs. Norris tsk'd at him. 'I've already rescheduled that meeting five times in the last eight months.'  
Harry crossed his arms. 'Well, maybe they should take the hint that I have no interest in engaging with them and their attempts to weasel themselves back into positions of power.'

Mrs. Norris' calm façade didn't change. She held out her hand and a piece of parchment flew into it. 'Their letter of request states clearly that they wish to develop a stronger relationship with Magical Law Enforcement to ensure transparency and positive encounters which will advance cooperation between traditional families and the Ministry as a whole.'  
Harry snorted. 'So the letter says, Blah, Blah, we lost a lot of power after the war, Blah, Blah, we want it back, Blah, Blah, the Aurors' is one of the few Departments we haven't yet infiltrated?'  
Mrs. Norris pursed her lips but rolled the letter back up. 'I'll reschedule your six o'clock with the Pureblood Reparation Society, Mr Potter.'  
'Thank you, Mrs. Norris,' Harry said, eyeing the woman a moment longer and knowing he was going to pay for being so flippant.

Payback came just over an hour later, when his assistant's voice came through his office door. 'Your nine o'clock appointment is commencing now, Mr Potter.'  
He looked up at the clock on the wall to see it had just clicked to nine. He pushed to his feet, heading out to find out more. 'Who with, and where?'  
She didn't look up but her voice held a hint of satisfaction as she said, 'Level Five, with the International Magical Office of Law. I believe it's a cross national meeting with Department Heads from the International Confederation of Wizards attending. You're expected there until two this afternoon at least.'  
Harry just caught the curse that was on the tip of his tongue before he dashed back into his office, gathering up a bundle of papers and a quill. He was halfway out the door when he realised he'd forgotten the Magical Protection review and he growled under his breath, collecting it before hurrying off down the corridor to the lifts. At this time of the day, they'd be crammed full of people coming and going. He was unlikely to get a clear run upstairs. He cursed again the need for anti-apparition wards in the Ministry. Then he cursed Mrs. Norris. Though he was careful not to do that out loud. Bloody woman probably had a listening charm on him.

The meeting had already started when he opened the large doors to the Minister's Chambers. Kingsley wore a faint frown as he glanced across at Harry, but he didn't break his speech to acknowledge him further. Harry cast the _Transduco_ charm over himself wordlessly as he slipped into his seat, ignoring the disdainful scowl Javier sent his way. He was tempted to slip the man a note telling him to bugger off. The meeting was about Law Enforcement at the Auror level anyway. It didn’t need the DMLE Head sticking his cost-cutting nose in. Though when he looked around the room, noting the members, he realised it was more than his normal counterparts from the International Confederation countries. 

He could see the MACUSA DMLE Head Emily Rappaport sitting beside the man he normally dealt with - Earnest Harkaway. And further down the table was the Law Enforcement Head from _Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France_. He frowned, looking around, and glanced back down at the Magical Protection paper he'd only managed to get a third of the way through. What he'd read didn't seem to warrant this level of political cooperation. He wracked his brain, trying to think whether he'd heard any talk around the office recently about big changes. Kingsley's words caught his attention and he narrowed his eyes as he listened.  
'… on an unprecedented streak, not just locally, but globally, of lowering magical crime, unrest and blood tension. Today, as we start talks about the global reduction in the need for the more extreme ends of our Magical Law Enforcement staff, we should pause, and congratulate ourselves on the many years of tireless energy that each of our countries has contributed, which has led us to this goal.'

Kingsley gestured and a sheet of paper appeared in front of each of them. 'As you will see from today's agenda, we will be visiting a number of ideas to achieve the aims of peacetime de-escalation.' He smiled and clapped his hands together. 'And now I will hand over to our very capable Department of Magical Law Enforcement Head, Robert Javier, who will facilitate proceedings today.'  
There was a pause and shuffling of papers as Javier stood and moved to the front of the room. Harry scanned down his agenda and at the first item on the page, he felt anger stir through him.  
Javier met his eyes for a brief second and the man's gaze held a hint of triumph as he began to speak. 

'Welcome, all. Today I'll be presenting on a reform package for Auror training, patrols and casework. I'll demonstrate to you the cost and resource savings we can make, while still providing the level of street presence our community is used to seeing from us. In a day and age where we are seeing less -'  
Harry grit his teeth together. Now was not the time for a battle of wills. He needed to calmly and rationally present his points. He needed to speak to his counterparts in the other ICW Auror equivalents and garner support on a cross-country plane to object to this -

'That's bullshit!' Harry said loudly, unable to hold in the anger seething through him.  
There was a stir as all heads turned towards him. Harry raised his chin, staring Javier right in the eye.  
'You have a point to make, Harry?' Javier's voice held a note of satisfaction that Harry knew should give him caution. Instead he felt his anger stir higher at the deliberate use of his first name, rather than his title.  
'I do, _Robert_. Your plan is going to get Aurors killed.' He rubbed his hand gently over his ribs as the ghosts of those who he'd been too late to save flickered through his mind.  
'We run quads for a reason. It gives us an offence, a defence, a medic evac and a watcher. Your plan to bring them down to one or two people teams is going to leave Aurors open to all sorts of Dark Attacks when -'

'Dark Attacks, Harry?' Javier's tone was mild. Bored. 'We haven't seen any _Dark Attacks_ in years … not since right after you vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And no one here would say that wasn't a noble and dangerous feat … but we can't afford to live in the past, can we? This is a new age - we are seeing unprecedented peace and prosperity in the magical community the world over. We can't go chasing after dark wizards under the bed, when our resources would be better spent elsewhere.'

Harry was almost speechless at the blindness of Javier's words. He pushed to his feet, clenching the table, white-knuckled.  
'Chasing after - I'm not suggesting we go _chasing after_ anything. You think this peace will last? Everyone thought Voldemort was gone. And Grindelwald before him.' He ignored the flinch from the two MACUSA members present. 'But they came back. They _always_ come back. You'd have to be an idiot to think otherwise. We need to be ready - to be prepared -'  
Javier opened his mouth, but it was the Minister of Magic who spoke.  
'We haven't made any decisions yet, Head Auror Potter.' His voice was mild, but there was clear censure in it. 'If you could please return to your seat, we will hear what our DMLE Head has to share and we will consider it like the professionals we are.'  
Harry felt the anger surge again, but he fought it down with a muttered, 'Of course Minister, my apologies,' as he dropped back into his seat. He dropped his eyes from Javier's smirk to stop himself from hexing the arrogant prick through the wall.

By the end of the forum, his shoulders were aching and he had a tension headache from gritting his teeth and forcing himself to play the game, rather than tell the lot of them they were blind fools who were putting the entire community at risk. Of all the proposals he'd heard, the only one he'd agreed with had been the Oceanian Coalition's proposal of increased cooperation between Aurors and other key Ministry Departments to ensure resources weren't diverted into pursuing leads that other staff already held information on, but were too inward-focussed to share.

The meeting had spilled well into the afternoon and by the time Harry left it - having been told twice more that his 'narrow minded approach' was not 'forward thinking' - he was about ready to curse the next person who looked at him sideways.

Mrs Norris took one look at his face as he stalked back to his desk and said, 'I'll move your caseload review meetings with the team leaders to first thing tomorrow morning, shall I?'  
Harry was tempted - so tempted - to say yes, but he was already backlogged on case review - he cursed the Ministry's insistence on hierarchical approvals which required him to sign off on every action his team leaders wanted to take in the field. He'd tried rubber stamping and just signing the documents, but it seemed the damned things were charmed to know whether they'd been read, before they'd let a quill touch them.  
He sighed, nudged his glasses up to rub tired eyes and dropped into his seat before calling out, 'No, it's okay. I'll do them today. Can you send Booth in please.'

\-----

It was half past six when the last review from this week's batch was complete. Harry looked at the clock and contemplated the thought of buying and cooking the rosemary and red wine shanks Ginny loved so much. It would take him an extra half hour to detour via the shops and at least an hour of time in the kitchen. He stretched, trying to relieve the tension in his shoulders, and winced at the sensation. Then he picked up a few of the case files from the week before and made his way downstairs to the Ministry floos. Perhaps he could get take away from the Indian Place that did floo deliveries. Ginny liked their Rogan Josh as well. They could have dinner together and sit down to some telly. Ginny had been enjoying watching it since they'd gotten it twelve months earlier.

When he stepped out of the green flames, he heard music coming from upstairs. It was loud and fast and something muggle. He winced as the sound jarred against his throbbing headache and headed for his study. He dropped his case files on his desk, shrugged out of his Auror robes and kicked his boots off in the corner before padding upstairs. He poked his head into Ginny's workout room and watched her for a second. She was doing chin ups, the muscles in her arms flexing as she pulled her body up to the bar in smooth succession. 

She dropped to the ground and was headed for the dumbbells when she caught sight of him standing in the doorway. She startled slightly, clearly having thought she was home alone and jogged over to the door.  
'You're home early,' she said over the sound of the music.  
Harry nodded, 'I wanted to say sorry for missing the game yesterday. I got caught up in something and -'  
Ginny waved her hand as if to say it didn't matter and looked back over at the dumbbells, shifting from foot to foot.  
'I'll let you finish up,' Harry said. 'I was going to get Indian for dinner. Sound okay?'  
'Sure,' Ginny said with a smile, turning away. 'I'll be another twenty minutes and then I'll grab a shower.'  
Harry closed the door on his way out, then cast a silencing charm at it, which turned the music into a muffled boom.

He was in front of the TV with a glass of firewhisky in his hand and a casefile spread across his lap when Ginny came back downstairs, red curls pulled into a damp bun. She looked relaxed and comfortable in a faded old Harpies shirt and worn joggers.  
She plonked down onto the couch beside him and reached for the containers arrayed on the coffee table in front of them. Harry put aside his work and did the same. 

'So it was a good game yesterday?' he asked between mouthfuls.  
Ginny nodded, 'We won by eighty points. We were down but Jones got the snitch. We need to work on our offensive line more. They were intercepting too many of our passes.'  
Harry nodded. He could imagine the scenario. He'd played a similar game against Ravenclaw in third year. But he'd long ago learned that comparing pro-league Holyhead Harpies games to Hogwarts Quidditch days glory didn't go down well. 

'How was your day?' Ginny asked, when he didn't comment further.  
Harry groaned. 'Shit. Big meeting with the Minister and the Auror departments from the International Confederation. Javier put up some bullshit proposal about reducing Auror numbers and half the room was for it.' He gritted his teeth, feeling his frustration rise again. Why couldn't any of them _see_ the dangers.  
'Not a good idea?' Ginny queried, eyes on the home improvement show on the screen.  
Harry stared at her a moment, wondering where to start with that one. Finally he just shook his head and said, 'No. It's dangerous. It's going to get people hurt or killed.'  
Ginny looked over at that and gave him a reassuring smile. 'Don't worry too much about it. I'm sure you'll be able to convince Kingsley it's a bad idea.' She patted him on the knee and then reached forward to put some more rice on her plate. 

They watched the show a while longer, making comments now and again about an architectural decision that looked hideous, or a price blow out.  
Eventually Ginny stretched and stood. She leaned down to peck him on the lips.  
'I have to be in at six for training tomorrow. I'm going to head to bed.'  
'Night,' Harry said. He reached for the case file and pulled it back onto his lap. 'I'm just going to do a bit more of this. I'll be up in a bit.'

He finished the file and moved into his study with another glass of firewhisky. Two more files later and he found himself drifting back into memories of the club again. 

Ladon had showed him the private rooms too. Had seemed to almost take pleasure in the blush that Harry couldn't stop as he described the purpose of the rooms. Harry had assumed he was reasonably knowledgeable about sex. After all, he'd been having it for twelve years. And yet he'd felt like an innocent virgin at hearing some of the things that had come out of Ladon's mouth. 

The images flashed through his mind again. Sex swing. Medical play. Blood play. He'd seen rooms with restraints and benches and one set up just like a dining room, which Ladon had told him was for those who enjoyed being human furniture. He'd been reeling by the end of the tour.  
He'd learned what the beautiful rope work was called too. Shibari. He felt his skin prickle with heat to remember it. Wondered what it would feel like to be bound like that. Restricted. To have so much focus on him as someone made intricate patterns against his naked skin.  
He flushed and put down his drink, pushing away from his desk. He was being ridiculous. He glanced at the clock on his wall. It was half eleven. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and tried to ignore the pool of heat in his groin. 

Upstairs, he got ready for bed as quietly as he could, but Ginny was a light sleeper. She stirred and rolled towards him as he slipped under the covers.  
He looked at her slim form in the soft light from the moon outside. He could feel a restless energy running through him. He hesitated a moment longer and then reached out and ran a hand down her side and over her hip. It had been a while since they'd done this, but …  
'S late,' Ginny mumbled sleepily, though it wasn't in protest. Harry ran his hand down over her arse, squeezing it lightly through her flannel shorts. She rolled towards him and slid her knee slowly up over his legs. Harry smiled into the dark and slipped his hand down the back of her shorts, over smooth, firm skin. 

She tucked her face into his neck as he moved his hand lower, stroking lightly. They stayed that way for a while, moving together slowly in the dark until Ginny's sleepy murmurs turned into moans and they were both sliding out of their clothes and reaching for each other.  
Ginny lay back, hair spread across the pillow and Harry rolled on top, guiding himself in. They moved together slowly at first, the room silent apart from Ginny's small sounds of pleasure. Harry had never been particularly vocal during sex, focussing instead on making sure Ginny was enjoying herself as he took his own pleasure.

She brought her hands up around his neck, scratching lightly through his hair as he thrust into her. The sensation stirred the restlessness higher and he moved his face to her neck, hesitating an agonising moment before whispering, 'Could you - could you scratch me? Down my back?'  
Ginny's hands stilled and Harry had the feeling she was looking at the side of his head. He was too embarrassed to pull back and see what the expression was.  
But then she moved her arms, scratching her nails lightly down over his back.  
'Like this?' she said, voice uncertain.  
'Yeah,' Harry replied. 'Uh - harder though?'

She didn't reply, instead, he felt the stinging scrape of her nails down his back. He hissed at the sensation and snapped his hips forward instinctively, grinding into her.  
Her movements stopped immediately. 'Harry? Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry.'  
Harry shook his head against her skin. 'No, you didn't - I mean. It - it was good.'  
Her hands returned to his back with a soft, 'Oh,' and she scratched again, though it wasn't as hard.

Harry moved in her, focusing on the trails of almost-pain down his back. He moved faster and faster, the image of the spiked wheel he'd seen at the club flashing into his mind. He wondered what it would be like to have that dragged down his back, pinpricks of sharp, hot pain, lines of red marks against his dark skin.  
It was as he wondered whether Ginny's nails would leave marks that he came with a cry, hips stuttering as he ground into her one last time. He rested his head on her shoulder, panting for breath and she stilled beneath him.  
'Did you …?'  
'Yeah,' he grunted. 'Did you?'  
She hesitated just an instant before she spoke. 'Yeah.'  
He'd been so focussed on chasing his own pleasure he hadn’t noticed, but Ginny was usually more vocal. He usually concentrated on her, making sure he held off until she - Harry rolled off her and cast the cleaning charm, too tired to do more than take her at her word.

Ginny hesitated a moment before giving him a quick kiss and reaching for her singlet and shorts. Harry did the same and they re-dressed in the dark. Ginny rolled back onto her side with a murmured 'goodnight' and soon her breathing had evened out as she fell back to sleep.

Harry lay awake in the darkness, thinking about her response to his request. She'd done it … but he didn't get the sense she'd particularly enjoyed it. Ladon's words ghosted back through his mind. _Do you like to give pain? Does the idea of tying up a willing body and whipping them until they beg you to stop - until they beg you for more - make something stir inside you?_  
He wondered what Ginny would say if he asked her to tie his wrists to the bed. He felt renewed heat run through him at the idea, but then reality of making that request - of asking for more than that - doused the stir of interest. How could he - and what if she laughed at him … or thought there was something wrong with him?

He lay awake a long time, looking into the darkness and wondering what if.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry. He's just not having a great life. 
> 
> Would love to know your thoughts. Hit me up here or on Tumblr @quicksilvermaid


	5. Chapter 5

'Mr. Malfoy has requested an appointment with you, Auror Potter.'  
Harry's head jerked up and he stared at Mrs. Norris, sure he must have misheard -  
'Who?' he asked, dropping his quill to the desk and leaning forward.  
'Draco Malfoy,' she said, looking down at her notes. 'He's a representative of the Pureblood Reparation Society and he -'  
'No,' Harry interrupted, shaking his head. 'No way.'  
'You had a cancellation this morning,' Mrs. Norris said, pursing her lips. 'The monthly Improper Use of Magic Office Departmental Heads Update Meeting has been postponed. George Banks is in St Mungos, apparently. As we'd rescheduled the Reparation Society meeting on Monday, I took the liberty of accepting the request and I let Mr. Malfoy know he could -'  
'No,' Harry repeated, pushing his chair back and standing. 'No way am I meeting with that slippery, devious, two-faced -'

'Good to see you again too, Potter,' came a drawling voice.  
Harry jerked his head up to see the familiar figure standing in the doorway of his office. Malfoy was leaning against the door frame with a hand on his hip, looking down his nose at Harry like he owned the place. Harry gritted his teeth at the clear sarcasm in Malfoy's tone. The faintest of smiles flickered across Malfoy's face as he noticed. Harry narrowed his eyes.

He thought he and Malfoy had an unspoken agreement. It was inevitable that they attended the same Ministry functions and social gatherings occasionally. But each time, they completely ignored the presence of the other. They didn't speak. They didn't interact. And they most certainly did not turn up in each other's offices.  
Mrs. Norris glanced between the two of them, opened her mouth and then seemed to think better of saying anything. She turned and disappeared out the doorway, pulling it shut behind her as Malfoy crossed the distance to Harry's desk.

Malfoy extended a hand and smiled smoothly.  
'Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Head Auror,' he said, grey eyes meeting Harry's confidently.  
Harry ignored the offered hand and crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at the well-dressed figure.  
'I didn't. And I'm not. Get out.'  
The only hint of displeasure Malfoy showed was a tightening at the edges of his mouth before his face became smooth and calm again. He dropped his hand, but not before giving Harry a look that made him feel like he was back in school and MacGonagall had caught him doing something childish.  
Malfoy ignored Harry's clear hostility and pulled out a chair. He sank gracefully into it, looking around Harry's office with an air of faint curiosity. Harry prickled at the judgement he just knew was sitting under the polite façade. His office was a mess. He wasn't paid to keep things tidy. He was paid to get things done. What right did _Malfoy_ have to -

'I'd like to give you an overview of the activities of the Pureblood Reparation Society and how they meet the aims the Aurors are working towards,' Malfoy interrupted his thoughts, as he fixed his gaze back on Harry.  
Harry stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words, but then he felt anger stir to life. He took a step forward, leaning and placing his hands on his desk so he could send the full strength of his glare into Malfoy's face.

'You must have misunderstood me when I told you to get out,' he said. 'What I meant was, I have absolutely no interest in hearing any proposal that a bunch of blood supremacists who supported a genocidal maniac have to offer.'  
A flash of anger passed across Malfoy's face again, but his voice, when he spoke, was calm. 'The war was twelve years ago, Potter. Society has changed since then. _People_ have changed since then. You can't judge a whole class by the actions of those in the past. We've _paid_ -'

Harry barked a bitter laugh. 'You've paid, have you? I've heard all about how you've _paid_. Or should I say, made others pay for you. How is it that the Malfoys still have their Manor, when so many other families - who did much less to support Voldemort - lost theirs? How is it that you - of all people - are at the most expensive parties? Front and centre of the most important decisions? You think I haven't noticed? You think I haven't watched the dirty deals you're cutting as you take money from people who -'

Malfoy's eyes flashed as he leaned forward, fingers gripping into the arms of the chair.  
'We have the Manor because _you_ spoke for us, Potter. That's it. That's all. Saint Potter spoke for us and so the powerful provided mercy. As for the rest -' He paused, closing his eyes briefly as he took in a deep breath and sat back into his chair, his body resuming its relaxed pose. His voice, when he spoke again, was calm again. Smooth. Somehow that made Harry's anger rise higher. What right did Malfoy have to come in here and tell him he was living in the past. He didn't have to -

'This is not about me, Head Auror Potter. It's certainly not about you and me and our unfortunate history at school. I'm here to -'  
'Unfortunate history?' Harry interjected derisively, standing up straight and crossing his arms again. 'That's the understatement of the century. You were a Death Eater. You got people killed. You spent years humiliating my friends. You smashed my face in -'

'Yes, and you cut me to pieces.' Malfoy's fingers ghosted over his chest in a gesture that seemed unconscious, as though he was tracing old scars. Harry's gaze darted down to the movement for a second before he pulled it back up to glare into Malfoy's hard, grey eyes. 'Despite that, I lied to save your life. And so did my mother. And yes -' he held up a hand to interrupt Harry. 'Yes, later you spoke for us. Debts paid. Happily ever after for everyone.'  
He took another deep breath. 'I'm not here today to talk about that. I'm here to talk about the Reparation Society and how we can help the Aurors. How we can make sure the changes -'

'I don't want your help,' Harry said, the words turning his stomach. How he loathed politics and underhand deals - and being offered them by _Malfoy_ of all people. He strode towards the door, wrenching it open and standing beside it. His voice was hard and certain when he spoke. 'I don't want anything to do with you.' He fixed his gaze implacably on Malfoy's slim form.  
Malfoy hesitated a moment longer, half-turned in his chair, face conflicted as though trying to see if there was any way he could salvage the situation. Then he sighed and stood, smoothing down his dark robes.  
As he reached the door, he looked at Harry again. 

'The Reparation Society is doing good work. I really hope you won't let this … incident … affect how you view them.'  
Harry said nothing, motioning grimly out the door. Malfoy's grey eyes looked into his a moment longer, as though searching for something. Harry didn't know what that look meant - why Malfoy should be looking at him with such intensity - as though he was seeking something that he couldn't find. After a moment longer, Malfoy's his face smoothed and he nodded, turning and stepping out of the door. Harry glared after his retreating form before he stalked back to his desk, slashing his hand savagely so that the office door slammed behind him with a crack that echoed through the Department.

 

\------

By the time Friday rolled around, Harry was beyond ready for pub night. He'd owled Ron at lunch to make sure they were on and Ron's response was sitting on top of the unfinished files beside him.  
_Mum's good. I'll be dropping the kids to her at 5 and then coming to pry 'Mione out of her office. See you at the Lion - RGW_  
He glanced at it periodically before he sighed and pulled another ream of paperwork towards himself. Tomorrow was the 31st. He knew the weekend would be a write off, so he needed to get as much done now as he could.

It was six before he gave up and stood, spine cracking as he stretched. He winced at the pain in his shoulders and wondered if he could get Ginny to give him a massage … it had been ages since she had, but she had such a knack for finding the right spots. He shrugged out of his Auror robes and hung them on the back of the door. He moved to the window, which was currently showing him the Lake at Hogwarts, and murmured a charm which made the surface shimmer and turn reflective. 

Harry frowned at his appearance and rubbed a hand over his chin. He hadn't shaved all week and his beard was thick against his jawline. He considered running a shaving charm over it, but then shrugged and pulled the band out of his hair instead. He collected it up to another messy topknot, trying to get as many of the unruly strands as he could. He cast a quick freshening charm over himself, looked his jeans and black v-neck t-shirt over and then decided that would do.

 _The Old Red Lion_ was crowded when he got there, but Lucy was working the bar and nodded her head to their regular booth up the back when she saw him walk in. Harry gave her a smile and a wave and she pointed at the bottle of Edradour Ballachin they'd started stocking just for him eight years ago. He nodded and she smiled back, busying herself with the next order.

He slipped into the corner booth and leaned back into the faded red leather, stretching his feet out under the table and feeling himself beginning to relax. The pub had started out as a joke - the perfect Gryffindor hideout in the Muggle world, when the publicity had been at its thickest. Now, it felt just as much like home as the Gryffindor common room once had.  
Lucy appeared at his table with a glass of the golden liquid.  
'On yer tab tonight, 'Arry?'  
Harry smiled ruefully, 'Guess that's what I get for being first to arrive.'  
As he spoke he noticed Ron and Hermione coming in, Ron heading for the bar and Hermione making her way through the crowd.  
'Righto,' Lucy said with a smile, turning to weave back through the tables, collecting glasses as she went.

Hermione slid in beside him with a smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. She was dressed in a black skirt and a green blouse that looked great against her darker skin.  
'How are you?'  
Harry shrugged, there was no point in not telling her. Hermione always knew when he was off. He flicked his fingers, casting a privacy charm around them. 'I've had a shit of a week. Did you hear about the ICW Auror Conference?'

Hermione bit her lip as she cast her mind back. 'I think we did have Javier's assistant poking around last week, looking for something or other to do with international case studies. Why? What happened?'  
He ran a hand over his hair, leaning forward so his elbows were on the table and launched into a summary of the presentations. Hermione was equally as indignant as he had been.

When Ron arrived, he placed a glass of wine in front of her and leaned back, his arm around Hermione's shoulders as he sipped his beer and occasionally interjected his own observations.  
'So basically,' Harry concluded. 'The Australians are the only ones of the lot of them with a lick of sense. And even their proposal is too weak. It's just things we should already be doing.'  
Hermione nodded. 'The lack of information share between Departments is ridiculous. The Wizengamot comes under the DMLE, but the only reason I have a clue what the Aurors are up to is because I'm friends with you, Harry. It's such a waste of information. Imagine if we were categorising it properly - collecting and filing and cross-referencing -'  
Ron caught Harry's eye and winked slightly. Harry couldn't help but smile in response at Hermione's faintly dreamy look as she spoke about information sharing reform across the Ministry.

Ron glanced over at the clock above the bar. It was a red lion whose arms moved around to tell the time. 'Right, that's half seven,' he said decisively. 'Work talk over.'  
Harry looked at it in surprise, 'No, wait,' he said. 'I've got one more thing. It's worth it. I promise.'  
Ron raised an eyebrow. 'Fine, but dinner's on you.'  
Harry grinned and leaned forward. 'You'll never guess who came into my office on Wednesday to try and get me on board for that bloody pureblood society.'  
Ron shrugged and Hermione pursed her lips, 'They're not actually that bad, Harry. They've been doing a lot of good -'  
Harry huffed a sigh, 'Don't you start. It's just a dilution of Voldemort's old ideas. Anyway that's not the point,' he interrupted as Hermione opened her mouth to argue.  
'It was _Malfoy_.' Harry leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms in satisfaction at Ron's thunderstruck look. Hermione's face creased into a frown of puzzlement.

'Trust that pointy git to be wound up with that lot,' Ron said, with a look of disgust. 'Did you hex him?'  
' _Ron_ ,' Hermione chided. 'Honestly. Are you twelve?'  
'Almost,' Harry said with a grin back at Ron. 'He just wandered right in, made himself at home and tried to tell me about how he'd _changed_.' Harry snorted, frowning as he remembered the meeting. 'As if I'd believe that. Maybe twelve years ago, but I've watched him claw his way back up into the centre of things. He's clearly the pureblood heir his daddy always wanted.' Harry gritted his teeth again at the memory of the sharply-dressed man. He didn't know what it was about Malfoy's uncaring confidence that put him so offside. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ron and Hermione exchange a glance.  
'What?' he said, looking over at them.

'Well,' Hermione said. 'It's just that the Reparation Society is actually doing some good work.' She held up her hand to forestall Harry's argument. 'They are, and you shouldn't let Malfoy distract you from that. We just got a million galleon donation from them in support of the Magical Education Squib Exclusion Law Reform Project. Half of it goes to overhauling the laws so that squibs can be educated alongside their magical siblings in advance of attending Hogwarts and the other half goes towards building new facilities to accommodate the increase in students once the law goes through.'

Harry grunted, leaning back in his seat. 'There'd be strings attached. The likes of that lot don't offer a cup of tea if they're not getting something in return.'  
Hermione shook her head. 'I don't think there is, Harry. I mean aside from being included back in the social circles, rather than being ostracised. I checked them out when they first started donating to legal reform a few years ago. All of the money is held in a trust fund and the causes for donation are decided in advance with a transparent decision-making process that includes members of the Society and key Ministry and public figures. They've been audited a bunch of times.' She paused, frowning slightly. 'I hadn't realised Malfoy was involved though.'

'He must be up to something,' Harry said, darkly. 'He probably uses them as a front for other -'  
'Harry,' Hermione cut him off, 'I am almost positive Malfoy is not "up to something". But let's not worry about that,' she continued as Harry looked up to object. 'How's Ginny? We missed you at the game last weekend. The kids were looking forward to seeing you.'  
Harry sighed and took a sip of his whisky, relishing the burn. It was his third of the night and the hazy glow was spreading through him. He forced himself to let it do its work - to let him relax.

'Yeah, I - ah - got caught up in a - a case,' he said, a little sheepishly.  
'Figured, mate,' Ron said, with a roll of his eyes. 'Gin came looking for you, but she didn't seem too mad.'  
Harry shrugged, 'I made it up to her.'  
Ron made a face. 'Too much information, Harry. She's still my little sister.'  
Now Hermione rolled her eyes, 'Honestly, Ron.' And then she moved the conversation to other topics.

It was eleven when they left the pub, walking slowly together to the nearest Apparition point. Harry was feeling loose and happy, but not so drunk that he couldn't Apparate home.  
'I'll be thinking of you, tomorrow,' Hermione said softly, glancing across at him with a sympathetic look. 'Make sure you and Ginny come by afterwards if you feel like it.'  
'Thanks, 'Mione,' Harry said, forcing a smile as the memory of what was to come rushed back to him. Tomorrow was the 31st. Tomorrow he would visit Godric's Hollow. He would visit his parents.

'Gin can't make it,' he said, pushing his mind past that thought. 'They have a coach from the New York Yetis flying in and she can't afford to miss it. It's the top rated team over there.'  
Hermione stopped, turning to him, 'Oh, Harry. You can't go alone. We'll come with you.'  
Harry shook his head, keeping the smile on his face. 'It's fine, Hermione. Thanks though.'  
She frowned, 'But a few years ago, when you went alone, you -'  
Harry interrupted, not wanting a retelling about the time he'd sat by their graves, lost in thought until long after it was dark. They'd sent out a search party for him.  
'It's fine,' he said again. 'Really. It will just be a quick visit, to lay some flowers and renew the protection charms.' 

She looked at him a moment longer, concern written across her face, but then sighed. 'If you're sure. But make sure you come by. Or send your Patronus if you need us.'  
Harry nodded, knowing he wouldn't.

\------

Harry sank down in front of the familiar stone.  
'Hi mum,' he murmured. 'Hi dad.'  
He didn't get an answer, but he wasn't really expecting one. He leaned forward to sweep away the leaves that had gathered at the base of the white marble slab, and then laid the flowers he'd brought with him.  
'It's roses this year,' he continued, sitting on the ground and crossing his legs as he gazed at the names of his parents etched into the headstone. 'Teddy was reading a book about deer, and apparently they eat roses.' He smiled wryly. 'Anyway, just thought you'd find that funny. They reminded me a bit of you, mum, actually. The colour. Or maybe how soft they are.'

He reached out to stroke a petal. 'I turn thirty this year. I know it's ages off, but it just feels … big. You know? Like twenty-one was hard enough …' His eyes traced the familiar date of his parents' death and he felt the remembered agony of that year. Of knowing that he would forever be older than his mum and dad had had a chance to be.

He sighed and picked up a leaf, shredding it through his fingers. 'Sometimes I feel like I should be happier by now … and sometimes I feel like I don't have any right to complain.' He reached out to touch the familiar words carved into the base of the stone. _The last enemy that shall be conquered is death._  
'At least I'm here, right?'

\-----

It was dusk when Harry finally stirred, casting the stasis and disillusionment charms back over the grave to ensure it remained undisturbed. He shot a quick glance at the flashy stone much nearer to the entrance - the one mounded with wreaths and tributes - then put his head down as he walked away.

It wasn't until he looked around at the bright lights of the London streets that he realised he hadn’t been paying attention when he'd apparated. He'd planned to head home, but had been lost in thought and had obviously unconsciously fixed on another destination altogether. He cast a swift glance over himself and was relieved to see nothing had been splinched. It had been a long time since he'd lost focus like that.

He looked around himself, trying to orient to which Apparition point he'd ended up at, and then he noticed a familiar street corner. He was walking towards it before he'd even consciously decided to do so. He paused for a second against the pull of the building that he knew was just around the corner - testing his resistance. The pull subsided, content to let him choose, though it whispered to him of the release he could find inside those doors. The release from his thoughts. From the pain. From the sadness.

He realised that there wasn't even a question of whether he would go there. The Club had been on his mind all week, never far from the surface. The things it promised … the things he had seen, drifting in and out of his mind in tantalising whispers. He would go inside. He would go inside and just watch. Just see. There was no harm in watching. Was there?

He stood in front of the tall, imposing building for a long minute, which stretched into another. That final step - the final movement to open the door - seemed just out of his reach.  
Abruptly the door was pulled open and Harry looked up to see the sharp-eyed, ebony-haired owner silhouetted in the doorway. His face was cold and hard as he looked down at Harry.  
'What do you want, Potter?'  
Harry raised an eyebrow at him and mustered a grin. 'No Mr?'  
Ladon looked at him for a long moment, blue eyes glinting with something that may have been anger, though it was gone before Harry could grasp it. 'Respect is earned,' Ladon said finally.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but something in him whispered that that was not the way to earn respect … though he wasn't sure why that should matter.  
Instead he asked, 'How did you know I was outside?'  
Now Ladon hesitated a moment, as though he'd just realised he'd revealed something he hadn't meant to, before saying, 'I keyed the wards to you.'  
Harry cocked his head to the side. 'Because you didn't want the Head Auror to arrive unannounced again … or because you wanted to know if _I_ was here?' he asked, feeling unaccountably bold.

Ladon leaned against the doorway, putting a hand on his hip. He was wearing tight, black jeans - muggle - and a black silk shirt, open at the neck. It highlighted his dark hair and the faintly olive tone to his skin beautifully. Harry wrenched his thoughts away from that path.  
'Maybe you should come inside and find out,' Ladon said, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow in what was an unmistakable challenge.

Harry moved slowly up the two steps and Ladon stepped back into the club, gesturing with a faintly mocking wave of his arm to the booth near the main doors, where Dahlia sat, her eyes sharpening as they fixed on him.  
'Forms first,' Ladon said, as Harry passed. 'No one enters without forms.'  
He followed behind Harry, moving back to the main doors. Just before he passed through, he turned back. 'I'm doing a scene on the main stage in an hour.' His eyes flicked up and down Harry's body, clearly not missing the way Harry's breath caught at the words.  
'If you're interested,' he murmured, before disappearing through the doors.

Harry turned to Dahlia, to see her staring after Ladon with a look he could only describe as confusion. She snapped out of it quickly, turning her sharp eyes to him and looking him up and down with much more lingering attention.  
'Hello again, pet,' she purred, leaning down slightly to pull a package out. He caught a glimpse of her cleavage and glanced away.  
He looked back when he heard her throaty chuckle and she handed the package to him.  
'Don't be shy, pet. You'll see far more than a pair of tits if you walk through that door.'  
Harry could feel his face heating and he thanked his darker skin which made it more difficult for the blush to show. He thought of what he might see, and he rubbed his thumb unconsciously across his ring, starting to consider whether he should - 

'Write what you are on the top, pet,' she instructed, interrupting his chain of thought. 'The form will change accordingly.'  
Harry felt off balance … like he couldn't quite settle into his skin … like his reasons for being cautious didn't make as much sense as they had when he'd been stewing over them all week in his office.  
'Pet?' Dahlia asked with a patient smile.  
Harry blinked at her and recalled her instruction. _Write what you are_ \- the words _dominant_ and _submissive_ flashed into his mind.  
'I don't - I mean, I've never … how do I know?' he asked finally, feeling embarrassment flood through him again at the question.  
Dahlia looked at him blankly for a moment and then a broad smile spread across her face. It showed a lot of teeth.  
'Oh pet, trust me. You know,' she looked him up and down again. 'Somehow I feel that none of the rest of us are going to get a play though.' She looked put out at the thought and glanced back at the door Ladon had disappeared through.

'Anyway, that's not what I meant. That can all be established later. Just put Wizard on the top of the form. It will change for the kinds of identification and checks your kind has available.'  
'Ah -' Harry said, smiling weakly. 'I see. Of course.'  
He thought about her words. _You know_. He thought about what he'd seen and read so far - what he wanted - what Ladon had promised him. And he shivered. She was right. He did know.  
_Submissive_. The word was like a promise. A threat of the most enticing kind.

\-----

The main room was dark; chandeliers hanging from the ceiling providing a flickering, shadowed ambiance. The stage itself was well lit and Harry stopped in the doorway when he saw what was being enacted. The platform was bare aside from a padded leather structure he remembered from the brochure as being called a whipping horse. But what gave him pause was the man laid out across it. He was naked, kneeling on a padded support with his ankles cuffed. His chest lay across the bench and he looked to have his hands cuffed on the other side. Behind him stood a woman dressed in a skin-tight red leather outfit that covered her from ankles to wrists. 

Harry's eye was drawn to the swift movement of her arm as she brought a cane whistling through the air to crack against the back of the man's thighs with a sound that whipped through the club. Harry watched the blow and felt something tingle across his skin in turn. The man cried out, a sobbing cry that seemed to be both pain and pleasure, and Harry realised that the cane had left a hot red welt, which matched five others already lined against his pale skin. He also realised, eyes widening with shock, that the man was hard - almost painfully so, from the looks of him. He tore his eyes away, looking across the room for the bar.

He kept his focus away from the stage and the periodic strikes of the cane as he made his way through the couches and tables arrayed in front of the stage. He could hear the man begging now, and it seemed to be a mixture of 'Pleasenostopnomore,' and 'MoreMistresspleaseMistressMoremore.' Harry wondered how it would feel to beg. He felt something stir in him at the thought.

He took his drink to an empty couch, skirting couples and groups entwined in various intimate acts. He saw a woman being used as a footstool and another man kneeling, head bowed, beside a couch, clearly waiting on the next whim or words of the man sitting within it. He tried not to stare, but it was hard to pull his gaze away. The man looked so relaxed, almost lost inside his own head.

Harry raised the drink to his lips, as his eyes drifted back to the stage. Then he paused and mentally slapped himself before cupping his hand around it to cast a discrete diagnostic over it. The charms flared before fading. Again, he registered the presence of compulsion. He sat back, looking at the drink in his hand and trying to analyse what he was feeling.  
_Savour. Enjoy. Go slowly_ seemed to be the gentle urging sent his way. He nodded his head, impressed at the forethought. He assumed it wouldn't do to have people getting drunk in an establishment like this. He imagined it would be easy for someone to go too far - for someone to get hurt.

He looked across at the stage to see the man being released from his restraints and the woman in red standing behind him with a cloth, which she was using to soothe the marks on the backs of his legs. Harry was sitting close enough to the stage that he could catch some of her words.  
'… did so well … perfect … in front of all these people …'  
He felt heat rise in him at the words, at the image of the man melting under her tender touch, after such violence had been done to him by the same hand.

As they left the stage, Harry looked up at the ceiling, flaring his fingers as he cast the same diagnostic on the room. He caught his breath as delicate webs of magic shimmered to life above him. He recognised faint yellow stands of protection, blue for safety, red for lowering inhibitions. They layered the room - seemed built into the very structure of the building. Suddenly his inability to focus on the reasons this Club was not a good idea made a lot more sense. He bit his lip, looking up at the sparkling lines of red magic. Lowering inhibitions. Letting people admit to their desires … their true wishes. He imagined what it must feel like to be totally honest … totally open … and he felt the last of his concerns over the nature of the Club drain away. This building was created to be a safe space for people to let go. Nothing dark lived here - except the darkness people craved.

He tensed as a figure came up behind him, arms bracketing either side of his head, and a voice spoke in his ear, low and hard.  
'This club is full of Muggles, Potter. I'd appreciate if you'd stop lighting up the ceiling like a fucking Christmas tree.'  
Harry looked at the intricate webs of magic a moment longer, then he closed his hand and let the spell slip away.

'They're beautiful,' he murmured.  
'I know,' Ladon said in his ear, his voice becoming smoother, silkier. 'Everything here is, one way or another.'  
'I'm … beginning to understand that,' Harry said, looking around at the people half-hidden by the dark. He felt hidden too - anonymous. Like here - he didn't have to be Head Auror. He didn't have to remember all the things he'd rather forget. He didn't have to be _Harry Potter_. Here, he could be anyone. Do anything …

He turned to Ladon - to say what, he didn't know, but the man was standing up, moving away - moving towards the stage. And Harry realised, with a tingle of anticipation, that he would be the dominant doing the next scene.  
Ladon stepped up to the stage, nodding to someone over by the bar. A moment later, four ropes dropped from the ceiling in a neat circle, which Ladon stood in the middle of. The man reached down for the hem of his shirt and stripped it off in one smooth movement, casting it off to one side so that he stood, bare-chested. 

His forearms were wrapped with leather bands, and Harry wondered absently if that was for the ropes. He couldn’t seem to draw his eyes away from the powerful lines of Ladon's body. He was lean and well muscled, his shoulders slightly broader than his narrowed waist. When he moved, it was with a grace that reminded Harry of the hunting cats from the Muggle documentaries he'd been watching. Ladon seemed to have the same coiled power in his every move.

Harry wondered what he would do with the ropes. Who he would do it with. He sipped his drink, letting the peaty burn linger on his tongue. The faint sharpness of it focussed him in on the man on the stage.  
A moment later a woman stepped up beside him. She was completely naked but didn't seem at all self-conscious of the fact. Her eyes were fixed intensely on Ladon as he stood, surrounded by the dangling ropes. She walked towards him, movements graceful and sure, and when she reached him, she sank to her knees and bowed her head.

The room was silent and Harry found he was holding his breath as Ladon reached out and stroked a hand down her long, dark hair. It was a gentle touch and she closed her eyes at it. Ladon moved towards her, standing in front of her as he gathered her hair into a fist and wrapped it into a loose knot behind her head. The move could have been one of dominant sexuality, but Harry felt like he was watching the opening movements of an intricate dance.

Ladon reached up, wrapping one of the ropes around his wrist and pulling sharply. It came free from the wire grid suspended above the stage and spooled in a pile at his feet. In a quick and practiced movement, he laid it out on the stage, so that it was doubled when he picked it back up. It was a thin cord, about the width of a finger, Harry guessed, brown and smooth. He wondered what it would feel like.

Ladon moved the rope through sure, long-fingered hands, then he looked down at the woman kneeling before him and his eyes burned with intensity as he began. He laid the rope over her shoulders, leaving the middle looping down her back, then he crossed it across her chest and moved behind her. He knelt too, hands certain and unhurried as he pulled her arms gently behind her. First one, then the other. He pulled the crossed ropes behind her, looping them through the dangling strands at her back and pulling them tight. Harry couldn't draw his eyes away from the way the ropes dug into her skin. Not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to feel.

He shivered slightly, focussing back on Ladon's movements as he took the rope across her front again, over her breasts. Harry saw that her nipples were hardening and her breathing was coming quicker now. He bit his lip and watched the path of the rope as Ladon pushed her hands further up behind herself so her palms met and faced the ceiling, as though in a backward prayer.

He looped the ropes around her upper arms and forearms in turn, tying beautiful, symmetrical, intricate knots - linking them back into the loop he'd begun with, in the centre of her back. He twisted the last of it around her wrists, fastening them together and then drew the whole thing in tight. Harry gasped as her body drew taught and she let out a soft moan that echoed around the silent room. The ropes tying her upper body were a work of art and Harry couldn't stop tracing their path, wondering at the hours - years - it might take to reach the level of effortless skill Ladon displayed.

Harry wondered if they were done, but Ladon merely placed a hand between her shoulders and pushed the woman forward gently, so she was kneeling face down on the polished wood of the stage. Harry felt a flush run through him as he realised from this position, she was completely exposed to the people behind her - naked and vulnerable. She was facing him, her head on one side, a strand of dark hair across her face. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing more steadily now, deep and slow. Her face seemed almost … vacant, and he wondered what she was thinking. If she was thinking anything at all. A part of him envied that … wondered what it would take to have that.

His eye was drawn back to Ladon who stood and reached again, muscles flexing, pale gold in the lights of the stage. He pulled another rope down with understated ease and doubled it, before he knelt again. He was behind her, denim-clad legs bracketing her naked arse. But he made no move to touch - other than to reach forward and lay the centre of the rope across her lower back. He tapped her gently on the thigh and she spread her legs. He looped one end of the rope between them and then back out, so it was trailing behind her. Then he did the same to the other.

He pushed her gently again, so she was laying flat on the floor, arms still bound up tight behind herself. He ran his hand down one leg and then the other, bending them backwards so her feet were resting against her bare arse. Then he set to work with the ropes again. He wrapped her left leg, pulling the strands up to encircle her bent leg, crossing them over her thigh to the calf resting above it and then back down. He looped out towards her knee twice, and then came back in. 

He paused a moment, eyes dark and intense, as he leaned forward, his own naked torso lightly gleaming with sweat as he put a hand near her head and leaned in close to murmur something in her ear. Harry barely saw the woman's lips move, but whatever she said to him had him moving again. Harry was barely breathing now, leaning forward in his seat - drink long forgotten. He imagined he could feel the bite of the ropes against his thighs. Feel the way they bound him - held him helpless.

Ladon worked his way down her right leg, taking longer this time to loop around her thigh and calf but also twist each of the wraps into the ones he'd already created on her left leg. Harry realised with a thrill that he was binding her legs together. Ladon finished mid-calf, hitching the knots and leaving a length of rope dangling. Then he stood and looked down on the woman for a moment. He wore the most intense expression of concentration Harry had ever seen - as though he'd been completely focussed on the moment - on the artwork he was creating. In some ways, Harry thought, Ladon was just as gone as the woman at his feet was.

Then Ladon looked up and his gaze met Harry's unerringly through the darkness. Harry's breath hitched at the burning heat he saw there. He knew, somehow, that Ladon had looked at him specifically - had known where he was … had been performing this … in part … for him. Harry shivered, unable to look away from the danger and the promise in the icy blue eyes holding him in his seat. 

Then Ladon looked down at the woman tied before him, and the moment was gone. His focus was back on her, and only her. He reached for the third rope and then stretched across for the fourth. Harry let his eyes trace corded muscles, beyond caring that he shouldn't be looking - shouldn't be hoping. Ladon reached down for the trailing ends of the rope he'd bound the woman's legs with and looped them through the knot he'd just created from the two hanging from the ceiling. He worked a moment longer, fingers deft and quick and then gave a hard tug. Seemingly satisfied, he ran his fingers over the knot briefly - caressingly - and then motioned again to someone in the direction of the bar.

Immediately Harry heard a soft whine and the two ropes hanging from the ceiling began to draw up, spreading apart as they were wound in. The woman's legs were drawn off the ground as the ropes above her drew tight. Ladon knelt again, running his hands over all the knots, as though checking their placement, checking her skin. He supported her, as she rose slowly into the air. Her head was the last to leave the ground and her eyes fluttered open for a second as it did so. Harry felt lost in the look of absolute bliss he saw reflected within their depth. Then she closed them again and hung, suspended upside down, a metre above the ground, spinning - ever so slowly - in front of the captivated audience.

Ladon stood back, watching her just as intently as the rest of the people in the large space. After a minute, which felt like an eternity, he stepped forward. The ropes began to move as he did so, unspooling slowly and lowering her back towards the ground. Ladon worked more quickly now, though still gracefully, as he began to undo the knots at her wrists and arms. He pulled each arm slowly back into a more normal position, smoothing his hands over them and stretching them gently as he did so. The woman was still lying flat on the ground, unresponsive, though Harry could see her deep, steady breathing. 

Ladon made short work of the ropes on her torso, piling them carelessly to one side, before he moved to her legs - doing the same, bending and straightening, rubbing and soothing. Someone placed a blanket and a bottle of water on the edge of the stage and Ladon reached across for them, wrapping the woman and bringing her to his chest as he sat, legs spread either side of her. He murmured into her ear as he tilted the water to her lips. After a long moment, she stirred slightly and began to drink.

Harry blinked and forced himself to look away. He felt like he was witnessing something intimate - something not meant to be shared. He wondered who the woman was, to the owner of the Club.

His eye was drawn back to the stage - to the two people on it and the display he'd just witnessed. He could feel the power of it - the emotion of it - resonating through him still. He understood fully now - to his core - why the place was called Release. The knowledge was heady … and terrifying. He stood slowly, placing his half-finished drink on the table before him, and moved through the darkened room. He felt overwhelmed by what he'd seen - what he'd felt.

At the large double doors he hesitated, turning back for a moment. He gasped, feeling his pulse rocket as he met Ladon's heated gaze from across the room. He realised the man had been watching him walk from the Club. As Harry met his gaze through the dim light, Ladon let the hint of a smile cross his face. It was a smile that promised cruelty and pain - release and absolution. It was a smile that crawled inside him like a flickering torch and Harry knew that if he let it, it could burn him alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! We finally get Harry and Draco face to face. We finally get into the world of BDSM ... though Harry hasn't participated yet ...
> 
> Thoughts?
> 
> FYI [this](http://rope-topia.com/portfolio-items/raine-rope-bondage-shoot-shibari-shoot-2013/?portfolioID=3350#jp-carousel-4332) is the reference pic for the Shibari scene (or google inverted suspension reverse prayer)  
> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this ch discusses canon character deaths and there is a lot of guilt and self-loathing in doing so.

Away from the heady promise of the Club, surrounded by the suspicions of the Auror Department, Harry found himself double guessing again. What did he really know about Ladon? The man was a wizard. He knew who Harry was. The entire wizarding world would kill for the knowledge of what he was considering taking part in. He imagined being trussed, helpless ... on display. He imagined pictures being taken of him ... He felt a hint of interest, but the larger - more sensible - part of him shied away from the thought. He'd be ridiculed. Ginny, Gods, what would Ginny -

He pushed up from his desk and slid into his Auror robes, buttoning them and taking a moment to check he was looking put together - he'd need to draw on his authority for this one. He headed past the mess of desks and mounds of casefiles that made up his Auror Department and through to the small, unobtrusive door at the back.  
He paused in front of the door and straightened his robes again, before knocking lightly.  
'Oook,' came the reply from inside the room.  
Harry put a smile on his face and opened the door, ducking his head as he stepped through.

He looked around the cavernous chamber, feeling, as he always did, when he needed to consult the Librarian, overwhelmed by the scale of the archives …. and nervous about where their keeper was hiding within them. He looked up at the towering stacks of scrolls, books and records. They stretched as far as the eye could see. He knew - from Hermione - that his was not the only Department to be connected directly to the archives. 

'Excuse me,' he called out, his voice echoing through the shelves. 'Librarian?'  
He looked around, holding his smile in place when he saw stacks of papers shift and sway in the distance, like trees in a forest. Moments later he caught a glimpse of a red, furred body sliding around a corner. He saw large, strong hands plucking tomes and scrolls, barely disturbing the piles as they did so. Then, finally, it came fully into view.  
Harry inclined his head respectfully at the bulk of the creature. The Librarian swung himself up onto the desk nearest the door Harry had just entered through and glared at him balefully.  
'Oook,' it said, coldly.

Harry swallowed and regretted - again - the drunken dare he'd accepted from Ron in his first year of Auror training. After being told all about the giant orangutan who was the only being able to navigate, let alone find anything, in the archives, Ron had thought it would be hilarious to knit a giant Weasley jumper with the letter 'M' - for Monkey - on it, and talk Harry into putting it on the creature. It had been the most terrifying ten minutes of Harry's life - and that included coming up against Voldemort. He'd been on his best behaviour with the creature ever since - unfortunately it seemed to have an incredibly strong memory, and hold a particularly vicious grudge.

There was a debate about whether the Librarian was a demiguise, who just happened to be particularly sentient, or whether he was a wizard who'd become trapped as an orangutan. Whatever the case, he'd been tending the archives longer than anyone in the Ministry could remember.  
Harry inclined his head again and then made his request. He'd learned it was best to cut straight to the chase with the creature - unlike Hermione, who loved to while away hours discussing obscure law with it.  
'I need a check on a wizard, please. Everything we have - birth, schooling, priors, work history, media coverage.' Harry paused, but the Librarian didn't speak, just watched him with large, dark eyes, head cocked to one side, sharp yellow teeth showing as he rubbed his fingers gently over the spine of the tome in his hands.  
'Right,' Harry said, clearing his throat. 'His name's Samael Ladon.'

'Oook,' said the Librarian, the tone clearly judgemental, as it put the books and scrolls it had gathered in a pile on the desk. Then it swung down to the ground and disappeared into the stacks without a backwards glance.

Harry swallowed and stepped forward, looking at the pile. Damned creature was presentient, on top of everything else. He hated to think what it had seen about his request and why he was making it. He considered gathering the records and retreating to his desk, but he didn't want to chance Mrs. Norris catching sight of the files - she knew he didn't have an active case.  
Instead he flipped quickly through, years of training allowing him to digest what he was reading and make the connections quickly.  
And the connections he was making painted a disturbing picture.

Ladon was in the records, that much was clear … but he was in there in the way that Harry usually only saw in his work cases. He had a basic history - date of birth (he was in his mid-forties - a bit older than Harry had suspected), Hogwarts schooling, a Gringotts vault, a low-level Ministry job before the opening of _Release_. And it was there that the paperwork got detailed. He had pages and pages in the _Establishment, Registration, Commencement and Permission to Trade Authority_ volume 278-280. All of the paperwork was in order - permits, spell forms, trading licences, purchase receipts - the works. It was all totally above board. Another seven folders contained his yearly tax returns and receipts for the club over the period he'd operated it. At a glance, everything seemed to be in order. He couldn't see any obvious signs of laundering.

Harry looked down over the other papers spread out on the desk before him. That was the issue. Samael Ladon, owner of _Release_ , was a defined, fleshed out person. Samael Ladon, before he started the club seven years previously, was a ghost. The bones of a person were there, sure, but the _life_ was missing. There were no childhood St Mungos visits, no awards or punishments at Hogwarts, no travel details, no bonding record. He didn't even own a house. The persona was enough to pass a casual inspection if someone were, say, establishing a business, but it wasn't enough to pass an Auror investigation.

Harry looked over the spread in front of him, and wondered what to do next. People had reasons for wanting to start again - all sorts of reasons. His gut - what he'd experienced at the club - told him Ladon was not a criminal. He was not using the club for dark purposes … should Harry just look the other way?  
He stared sightlessly at the papers - _could_ he just look the other way? It went against all of his training over the last ten years.  
He sighed and gathered the paperwork back into an orderly pile, turning to leave through the door he'd entered.

\-----

He was preoccupied the rest of the day and it was late when he got home, stepping through the floo and heading straight to the cabinet that housed his firewhisky.  
He could hear the telly in the other room and glanced around, hoping Ginny had left dinner out for him. His shoulders slumped when he couldn't see anything and he grabbed a slightly stale muffin from the tray beside the sink.

He stepped into the lounge room, shrugging out of his robes awkwardly, drink in one hand and muffin between his teeth.  
'You missed mum's birthday,' Ginny said, voice tightly controlled as she continued to watch the flickering picture.  
Harry froze, shock rising in him. He threw his robes over the edge of the chair and took the muffin out of his mouth.  
'Shit,' he muttered. Then louder, 'Shit, I completely forgot. I had so much on and - you didn't owl me?' he asked.  
Ginny looked away from the screen at this and Harry flinched at the expression on her face.  
' _I didn't owl you?_ Are you serious? You're twenty-nine years old, Harry. You run a fucking Department at the Ministry. It's actually not my job to run around and remind you of things _you should already know_.'

'I didn't mean it like that. It's just - I had a lot on today and -'  
'She changes it for you, Harry. You remember that, don't you? She changes the date of her birthday celebration - _for her whole family_ \- so it comes after the anniversary of your parents' death.'  
Ginny was standing now, facing him. 'Do you know why she does that, Harry? She does it because she wants you to enjoy yourself - to have a good time. And she knows that time of year is hard on you.' Ginny's hands were clenched into fists and Harry was startled to see the shine of tears in her eyes.  
'She does that for you, Harry,' Ginny spat. 'And you can't even be fucking bothered to show up.'

'Gin - I'm sorry. I'll make it up -'  
'Save it, Harry,' Ginny said, voice quieter now. 'I'm so sick of hearing it. Go and tell mum. She might believe you.' With that she turned away from the television - away from Harry - and left the room.  
'You might want to talk to Ron, too,' she called over her shoulder, voice bitter. 'He made up some shitty excuse for you. I couldn't think of one.'

Harry stared after her, emotions surging through him. He wanted to argue - to protest that he hadn't meant it. He wanted to make her see that there were just so many things, all the time, that demanded his attention … but a part of him knew that was bullshit. A part of him knew that wasn't enough. If only he hadn't been distracted by looking into Ladon's history. 

_Ladon_. Harry fixed on the name. This was _his_ fault. He thought about going upstairs. Thought about trying to apologise to the cold silence.  
Instead, he downed his drink and Disapparated. 

He strode straight though the doors of _Release_ , past the ever-present Dahlia, whose objections followed him into the public space. He looked around the dimly lit room with clenched teeth, feeling his anger crackling around him. A small part of him whispered that what had happened had nothing to do with Ladon, but he pushed it down. The lights flickered and he heard murmurs as people on the couches looked around. The Club was a lot quieter than it had been on the weekend and Harry's attention was drawn briefly by the stage. There was a woman standing with her arms and legs tied to a wooden X-frame. He watched for a second as she writhed, while another woman dripped hot wax over her naked chest. The woman on the frame was blindfolded and her torso was streaked with drying wax.

The targeted pain just fanned his anger higher, setting his blood boiling. He set off a seeking spell, targeted at Ladon. It bounced back at him a moment later and he narrowed his eyes. Ladon either wasn't here, or the spell couldn't find him because - as Harry suspected - his real name wasn't Samael Ladon.  
A moment later he spun around as a rough hand grabbed his arm and a voice hissed in his ear. 'What _the fuck_ do you think you're doing? Does the Statute of Secrecy not actually apply to the famous Harry Potter?'

Harry wrenched his arm out of Ladon's grasp and glared at him. The lights flickered again.  
'Who are you?' he demanded, voice hard.  
Ladon's eyes widened briefly, and then he composed himself.  
'Not here,' he said, turning and striding away, seemingly unconcerned with showing his unprotected back to Harry. Harry considered hexing him, but then he forced himself to take a breath.  
He strode up beside Ladon, who was leaving the main room, refusing to follow behind him like some faithful pet. 

The moment Ladon led him into one of the smaller side rooms and the door closed behind them, Harry pushed Ladon up against the wall, glaring into his face.  
'Who. Are. You.' He repeated, teeth gritted.  
Ladon looked down at him, showing no concern for Harry's arm at his throat or the anger on his face.  
'Does it matter?' he asked coolly.  
'Of course it matters,' Harry growled. 'You're pretending to be somebody else.' 

'And you're not?' Ladon asked, one perfect eyebrow raised. 'Let's stop playing about, Mr Potter. You're not angry because I used to be called something else. You're angry because you want what I can offer and you can't bring yourself to ask for it. You can't bring yourself to shake up your perfect, empty little life and do what you want for a change.'

Harry stared into icy blue eyes, stuck on the way the words resonated within him. He wasn't - he didn't ...  
He shook his head to get rid of the thought. 'That's bull,' he objected. 'You shouldn't be allowed to hide -'  
Ladon interrupted him, pushing away from the wall and breaking Harry's now-lax grip.  
'I'm not hiding anything. Unlike you, I know exactly who I am and what I want.' He paused, taking a step to the side and gesturing around the room they were in. Harry followed the movement and his eyes widened in shock.  
'I know what you want too, Mr. Potter,' Ladon said, voice certain as he moved toward the leather cuffs suspended from chains on the ceiling. Harry's eyes followed him, and then glanced over the array of floggers, whips and cords hanging from one wall of the small room. He swallowed dryly, his anger arrested by the sight. 

'I can give it to you, you know,' Ladon said, selecting a flogger off the wall and running the fine leather strands though his fingers as he spoke, eyes fixed on Harry.  
'You only have to ask.'

Harry felt his pulse race and he turned to look back at the restraints dangling from the ceiling. He wasn't sure how the situation had gotten so out of control. He'd come in here to confront Ladon - to get to the bottom of whatever game he was playing.  
He looked back at the array of leather straps, at Ladon's confident stance as he watched Harry, running the flogger through his fingers, again and again as though he had all the time in the world.  
Abruptly, Harry realised the situation wasn't out of control. _Ladon_ was perfectly in control. Had possibly planned for this exact thing. He wanted that thought to make him angrier, but something in the idea settled Harry. Calmed him slightly. He didn't have to be the one to make the decisions - to be in charge … if he didn't want to.

He looked up to meet Ladon's eyes and licked his dry lips. Ladon's words rang through his mind. _You're angry because you want what I can offer and you can't bring yourself to ask for it._ Was that it? Did he want it - want the release from the tumult of emotions raging within him? He realised he'd known the answer to that the very first time he set foot in the place. 

'Say I did ... choose to take what you offer,' Harry said, his eyes drawn to the restraints again. 'How could I trust you? How do I know you won't sell me out to the _Prophet_ , or the Ministry?'  
Ladon smiled at his question, and it held an edge of triumph.  
He shrugged, 'You don't. BDSM is about trust above all else. It's about making yourself vulnerable within a safe space. You trust me, or this won't work between us, regardless.'

Harry hesitated at the answer, not able to bring himself to bridge that final gap. Wanting, yet held back by years of Auror training and by the eternal curse of being Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World. He couldn't just trust - blind trust had led him to his death, once. _And to everyone's salvation_ , a voice in his mind whispered.  
Ladon looked at him, just watched him, waiting for his response.  
Harry felt his emotions flare again - fear rising to the fore, followed by guilt - so much guilt - and anger, regret, defeat, resignation. That grey sense of _not enough_ that dominated so much of his waking life.  
He looked into Ladon's eyes and the cold, blue certainty he saw within them seemed to offer a beacon - a lifeline.

Harry gathered his courage and leapt into the void.  
'Okay,' he said, and the word held a world of change. He didn't trust Ladon - didn't _know_ Ladon. But he wanted what the man could offer - _needed_ what he could offer.  
'Okay,' he said again, quieter this time.  
Ladon watched him a moment longer, as though measuring his certainty and then his face changed, taking on the predatory look Harry had been captivated by when Ladon performed on the stage.

'Give me your wand,' Ladon said, holding out a hand.  
'My - why?' Harry asked, surprised by the request.  
Ladon's lips tightened. 'I realise you are inexperienced when it comes to this life, so I will be lenient. But I expect you to learn, and learn quickly. You will address me as Sir during our time together. Is that clear?' Ladon paused, clearly waiting for a response.  
Harry stared at him, processing the request. He wanted to object - wanted to argue against making himself subservient in such an obvious way. But then his lips quirked into a smile as he realised that was the whole damned point of why he was here.  
'Yes, sir,' he said easily, the smile still on his lips.

Something unreadable passed across Ladon's face at Harry's response and his eyes narrowed, as though it hadn't been what he expected.  
'Part of the pleasure that can come from submission is based on the sensation of being helpless, being unable to stop what's happening unless you specifically request it. Having a wand … makes it harder to let go, in my experience. You'll have too many options and too much retained power.'  
Harry nodded. The words made sense. He fished his wand out easily and handed it over. Ladon put it in a box, alongside his own.  
Harry nodded at it, as it was locked away. 'I barely use it, nowadays. I - I don’t really need it.'  
Ladon hesitated, hand still on the box, facing away from Harry.  
He muttered something under his breath, which Harry couldn't catch, but which sounded like ' _of course you don't_.'

Ladon took a step to the wall, where all manner of things hung, and removed a black leather strap with a heavy silver buckle.  
Harry blinked when he realised what it was. A collar. He felt a jolt of interest run through him, and Ladon seemed to catch it, running the leather through his hands, before pulling it tight with a snap, as he stepped in front of Harry.  
'This,' he said, looking Harry right in the eyes, 'Is a magic suppression collar. I'm going to put it on you. While you wear it, you won't be able to use your magic. Do you understand what I'm saying?'  
Harry's eyes dropped to the heavy leather band and he licked his lips.  
'Yes,' he said softly. 'Sir.'

'Good boy,' Ladon murmured as he moved closer and reached up to put the collar around Harry's neck. Harry's breath hissed in at the words and he jerked his eyes back up to Ladon's.  
Ladon's gaze sharpened and he smiled slowly. 'Like that, do you, Potter.'  
Harry felt his face redden, but he nodded.  
Ladon's smile grew. He pushed the end of the collar through the buckle and pulled it until it was snug enough that Harry could feel it, but not so tight that it was restricting his breathing. He raised a hand to touch it, and shivered slightly at the look of heat in Ladon's eyes as he ran his fingertips across it.  
'Cast a _Lumos_ ,' Ladon said.

Harry spread his fingertips, the spell second nature to him. Nothing happened. He frowned and then said out loud, ' _Lumos_.' Again, there was no response. He could feel his magic, coiled bright and ready inside him, but it was as if the reach he made towards it had reached in the opposite direction instead. The feeling was … unsettling … but also strangely liberating.

'Perfect,' Ladon said. 'This is what will happen. You will take off your shirt and I will cuff your wrists. I will choose something from the wall and we will see what you make of it.'  
Ladon looked at him, and Harry realised he was expecting an answer. He felt his heart beat faster at the thought that he was going to do this - going to be bound and at Ladon's mercy. He thought about all the other things that went on in this club and his guilt rose to the surface again.  
'I - yes. Okay. But I - I'm married. I can't -'

Ladon held up a hand. 'I don't engage in penetration. Ever. My role in this Club is to facilitate your release. In my hands, this will be a purely physical experience, rather than sexual.'  
He paused again and Harry realised a response was expected.  
Harry reached up to run his fingers softly over the collar. It felt snug against his skin. Secure. Grounding. He felt the last of his reservations fall away.  
'Thank you, sir,' he said, and felt the words shiver over him, settling under his skin, telling him to offer himself up - to let himself be freed.

Ladon seemed to recognise the shift. Something in him darkened. Harry felt a thrill tingle through him at the response.  
'Shirt there,' Ladon said, pointing to a bench by the door. 'Neatly,' he said sharply, as Harry pulled his shirt roughly over his head and balled it up to throw at the bench. Harry considered asking him why it mattered, but at the look on Ladon's face, decided not to.  
He walked to the bench and folded his shirt, placing it down. He hesitated, then took his glasses off, placing them on top. Then he turned back to Ladon, just catching the flick of the man's eyes over his body as they came up to meet his.

He stood face on to Ladon - trying not to feel self-conscious - trying to imagine this was the same as getting changed in the Auror showers or the Quidditch locker rooms. But somehow it wasn't the same at all. Ladon was still fully dressed, in tight black jeans, boots that ran to mid calf and an open necked blue shirt that was almost the same deep ebony of his hair. He looked stylishly put together in a way Harry was sure he'd never managed. He looked good. 

Ladon nodded to the leather cuffs dangling from the ceiling and Harry moved over to them, standing beneath them and looking up. Ladon stepped in close behind him and tapped his arm. Harry started, and then realised he needed to raise it. Ladon held his wrist, buckling it into the cuff with strong, practiced fingers. Harry raised the other arm without prompting.  
'Good boy,' Ladon murmured.  
Harry felt that same flush of heated pleasure at the words.

When his arms were raised above his head, Ladon touched something on the wall and the ropes in the ceiling drew up. Harry felt the cuffs tighten around his wrists until his arms were pulled straight and he could feel his feet beginning to leave the ground. Just as he was thinking he was going to be hanging in the air, the ropes stopped moving, and he was left with only the balls of his feet for support.  
He was stretched out, his torso on display, swaying slightly as he attempted to keep his balance. He could feel the movement, the weight of his body all through his arms and shoulders.

For the first time, he understood what he had done, in letting himself be collared - in giving this man power to restrain him - in every sense. He was completely - utterly - vulnerable, in a way he had not been since he was eleven years old and a wand was first placed in his hand. He felt a jolt of anxiety run through him at the thought, and then Ladon stepped into view, face calm. Harry opened his mouth - to say who knew what - when Ladon spoke.  
'We have a system of colours. It's based on the Muggle traffic lights. Green for go. Yellow for slow down and red for stop. If you need to stop - ever - for any reason - you say red, and I will stop. Okay?'

Harry nodded, feeling relief flow through him. He'd been lied to a million times over his career. He knew what lies looked like. Ladon, looking into his face and speaking those words, was not lying.  
'I need to hear you say it, Potter.'  
Harry nodded and spoke, throat dry. 'Red for stop. I understand.'  
'Good,' Ladon said, running a finger lightly down Harry's side, over his ribs. Ladon's gaze followed his touch and with a jolt, Harry realised exactly what he was seeing.

Stark black against his brown skin. The names of the dead. Ladon was touching his left side. That was where he'd started, all those years ago. He'd had it done the muggle way. So they would remain still. Lifeless. So they would hurt. 

'It's not your fault you know,' Ladon said softly, running his fingers lightly over the marked skin.  
'I know', Harry said. Because that was the expected response. That was the response he always gave, when someone mentioned those who had died because of him - for him.

He could picture the names - had run his fingertips over them a million times, in the same way as Ladon was now.

_James Potter_  
_Lily Potter_  
_Cedric Diggory_  
_Sirius Black_  
_Albus Dumbledore_  
_Hedwig_  
_Alastor Moody_  
_Dobby_  
_Fred Weasley_  
_Remus Lupin_  
_Nymphadora Tonks_  
_Lavender Brown_  
_Colin Creevey_  
_Severus Snape_

On the other side were the names of Aurors who'd died under his watch. Every time he went to get a new name added to the list, he considered asking the tattooist to ink his name there too. 

'They're a memorial ... to honour the dead,' Harry said, wanting to break the silence, and the strange, intense regard for his pain - for his guilt. It was his usual line. Usual explanation. But Ladon didn't respond in the way people normally did, with sympathetic looks and empty platitudes. Instead, he stepped back in front of Harry, fixing him with his icy blue eyes.  
'Do you want to be punished for them?' Ladon asked.  
Harry drew in a sharp breath, the words setting something loose inside him. He'd never _paid_. No one had ever let him _pay_.  
'Yes,' he whispered, casting his eyes down in shame. 

Ladon stepped away and a moment later Harry heard a swish, as something moved quickly through the air. Then from behind him, Ladon's voice.  
'I want you to say their names. One stroke for each name.'  
Harry nodded, feeling guilt and torment rise up in him like bile. He needed to be punished for this. He deserved to be.  
'Names, Potter,' came the voice from behind him. Hard and unyielding.

'Katie Benson,' he said, remembering the first year recruit who'd died on a simple raid gone wrong six months earlier. He pictured her face, so young and eager. Excited to get her chance in the field - to follow in her father's footsteps, and in Harry Potter's Department, no less.  
The whistle of the leather through air was his only warning before line of fire spread across his back and wrapped around his side, right over the name he'd just spoken. He cried out at the sharpness of it. The shock of it.

'Colour?' came a composed voice from behind him. It took him a second to pull his scattered thoughts together enough to understand what he was being asked, and to be able to answer it.  
'Green,' he said, forcing his voice to be steady. He'd felt far worse pain than this before.  
'Continue,' Ladon said.

Harry spoke the next name.  
'Eladora Blane.' He remembered the seasoned Auror. One of his mentors. He remembered his mistake in reassigning her partner.  
_Crack_ came the burst of pain.

'Rudolf Higgs.' The undercover agent he'd left in too long.  
_Crack_.

'Hamish McFarland.' His partner for six months. Hamish had had a child. A baby girl.  
_Crack_. Harry felt like the lash was cutting him open. He closed his eyes, but he could still see the look on the little girl's face.

'Arminta Medowes.' His intel had been wrong. Robards had sent her in on his word.  
_Crack_.

'Walter Parkin.' Parkin had jumped in front of an Avada meant for him.  
_Crack_. The lash took his breath away.

When he realised what the next name was, he felt his chest clench further. He let himself hang for a moment, not trying to support his own weight. Behind him he could hear the swish of air as Ladon moved the leather strap back and forth.  
'Colour?' came the voice, slightly less composed than it had been before.  
'Green,' Harry whispered, and pushed himself back up onto his feet.

'Severus Snape,' Harry said, voice louder, stronger. He remembered Snape's last moments. Remembered his last memories. Remembered his sacrifice. When the pain of the lash came - to the other side of his body now, over Snape's name, he welcomed it. Let it join the pain in his heart.

'Colin Creevey.' He thought of all the children who'd never had a chance to grow up. Because he hadn't acted quickly enough. Hadn't figured it out soon enough.  
_Crack_.

'Lavender Brown.' He remembered sightless eyes. A lifeless body. Joy and energy taken from the world. Because he'd brought the fight to the school.  
The whip of the lash scoured him. He didn't know how many blows it had been now. All he knew was he needed to say the next name. And the next.

'Nymphadora Tonks.' He thought of Teddy and his ever changing hair and his sunny disposition. He thought of Tonks putting her faith in him to win the war.  
He thought of how - in his darkest moments - he wondered if he would get little Teddy killed too.

'Remus Lupin.' He could feel his breathing coming faster now, gasping and laboured as he remembered the man who had been friends with his father - who knew his past like no other. The man who had taught him how to cast the embodiment of life, and who had given his own life, just like the rest of the Marauders, in the end.  
_Crack_. The leather curled around his chest, a band of fiery pain.

He felt his magic surge within him, responding to the threat, to his anguish. It was beating against the cage that held it. Harry could feel the leather of the collar against his throat. He focussed on it, feeling it holding him tight - holding his magic tight. He closed his eyes and pushed his focus away from the useless power within him. 

'Name.' Ladon's voice was inexorable. Like the judgement of a wrathful God.  
Harry thought of the next name inked into his skin and felt bitter, flooding guilt rising through him like bile. It easily drowned the golden light of his magic.

'Fred Weasley.' He thought of Ginny's words - of how he'd failed Molly - forgotten her. He thought of all the Weasley's and how there was an eternal hole in their family, because of him. He thought of Fred and felt like a thousand lashes wouldn't be enough. He continued. He could do nothing else. 

'Dobby.'  
The hand wielding the whip paused as he spoke. Harry didn't notice when it came down with less force than the others. He remembered holding Dobby in his arms as his life bled out into the sand. Dobby had only been there to save him.

'Alastor Moody.' Mad-eye had been held captive for a _year_ because of him. Despite that, he'd returned to the Order to fight in Harry's name. He'd died, trying to get Harry safely away from Voldemort.  
_Crack_. Harry squeezed his eyes shut tight. He would _not_ cry out. He would take this. He deserved it.

'Hedwig.' He remembered his only friend through the long summers. His beautiful connection to the wizarding world. He remembered her body falling from the sky as she took the curse meant for him.  
_Crack._ Because of him. It was all because of him.

'Albus Dumbledore.' The name was a whisper. A thousand memories moved through his mind. Love. Admiration. Awe. Anger. Fear. Hatred. Understanding. Compassion.  
It took him an eternity to realise the lash hadn't fallen. There was no stinging pain to join the burning tapestry that was his back.

'That's enough, Potter,' came the voice from behind him. He felt Ladon step forward and reach for his wrist.  
'No,' Harry, said, shaking his head and jerking away, the movement ratcheting the pain higher. 'No. Please.' He heard the pleading in his voice. Didn't care. 'Please. No. Don't stop.' There were four more names. Four more names.

There was a sigh of sound, the ghost of a touch across the remaining, unmarked skin, and then the lash descended.  
_Crack_.

'Sirius Black,' Harry said, his voice breaking on the name. He thought about the wonder of having a family for the first time in memory. Belonging - having someone just for him.  
His mind boiled with anger and self-loathing as he remembered falling for the trap - being the _cause_ of everything that had happened that night.  
_Crack_. The lash cut the pain inside him, mixing with it and sending it spiralling higher.

'Cedric Diggory.' Harry had told him to touch the cup. Had said they should do it together. The _only_ reason Cedric was dead was because of him.  
_Crack_. Harry felt himself begin to let go - to unravel. It was too much. He couldn't hold this much pain - this much guilt and anguish.

He knew the next name. Knew it better than he knew his own.  
'Lily Potter,' he whispered through raw and bitten lips.  
He heard his mother's pleading cry again. Heard her die for him - give her life … just for him. Harry screamed, at last, as the lash bit into his skin. He screamed his pain and the terrible, horrible emptiness inside himself.

He sobbed for breath - for enough breath to voice the final name. As he said his father's name, he felt the dam inside him burst. He felt the filth - the loathing, the pain, the guilt, the responsibility spew forth. He felt his father's hand on his shoulder and saw the crooked half grin on his face.  
The lash followed the words, 'James Potter,' but Harry didn't even feel it. He was lost. Lost inside himself as he let everything in him pour out in a flood of heartache and fear.

He barely felt Ladon undoing the cuffs at his wrists and lowering him to the ground as he cried, curling in on himself. Harry sat there on the cold stone floor and cried. He cried in a way he hadn't since he'd been a small child, lying on a lumpy mattress in a dark and cramped cupboard, begging for someone who would never come. 

Huge, wracking sobs tore out of him - he felt like they were tearing him apart. He felt arms come up around him, holding him close, holding him in. The arms were strong and sure, gentle where they had been violent a moment before. Soft words started up, a background murmuring that didn't penetrate his mind as he cried out his anguish and sorrow. He leaned against the warm body and let himself pour it all out.

Eventually - after what could have been minutes, or hours - he felt himself slowly beginning to calm. His breathing began to slow and he felt hollow - empty. Washed out. Cleansed. He felt lighter somehow, as though he were floating. He became aware of soft, soothing words, repeated in time with the hand that was rubbing softly up his arm.

He realised he was sitting between Ladon's legs and he leaned more of his weight against him. He felt so fragile that he might shatter with a swift movement, so he stayed as he was - head on Ladon's chest as he listened to the words, his eyes closed.

'Hush, hush now, you're okay. I've got you. You were beautiful, Harry. Perfect. Just perfect. Hush now, that's it. It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. It was Him. It was His fault, Harry. You must know that. Everyone made their own choice to fight. You can't take everyone else's decisions on yourself. You can let it go. Hush now. I've got you.'

Harry listened to the words and wondered about them through his dazed and foggy state. Could Ladon be right? It couldn't be that easy. Surely not - after all these years, he couldn't just -  
As Harry listened to the flowing voice, he calmed further. He brought a hand up to the collar at his throat, feeling reassured by its weight. Its presence. At his movement, Ladon's words slowed, as did his gentle touch against Harry's skin. Eventually he began to hum, a slow, soft melody with a melancholy lilt to it. Harry shifted against Ladon's chest, sighed heavily and let himself drift as he listened.

 

\-----

 

It was a long time before Harry felt like he'd come back to himself. He opened his eyes and stirred, sitting up slightly, moving away from the warmth of Ladon's body, feeling unsure of himself. Ladon let him go, reaching for a bottle of water and bringing it to Harry's mouth. He drank, wincing as the movement of sitting up straighter pulled at the lines of pain down his back.  
'Do you want me to heal them?' Ladon asked, tracing his fingers lightly down Harry's skin, over the reddened welts left there.  
Harry shook his head straight away. 'No ... I want to feel them.' He couldn't quite meet Ladon's eyes but he seemed to understand anyway.  
'Won't the We- your wife notice?'  
Harry shook his head again, clearing his throat. His voice was scratchy, his throat raw. He remembered screaming ... sobbing.  
'We don't, that is, it's been a while since we ... She won't notice.'  
'Okay,' Ladon said, accepting the fact without further comment. 

He reached for the collar at Harry's throat, pausing with his fingers on the buckle.  
'Are you ready for me to take this off?' Ladon asked, looking Harry in the eyes with a serious expression.  
_No_ , Harry wanted to say.  
'Yes,' he said instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts. 
> 
> I'm so freaking proud of how this came out!
> 
> Dec 18: @keyflight790 commissioned the incredible @anokaba to illustrate Harry bound and awaiting what he thinks he deserves. The art is here: [ART: Names ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17106923)  
> And it blows my freaking mind. It's stunning.  
> @keyflight - I can't even with you ♥️x infinity


	7. Chapter 7

Harry was woken by Ginny shaking his shoulder.  
'Harry? Harry, wake up. You're going to be late.'  
He jerked awake, squinting up at her and then moaned as pain ratcheted through his body. The memories of the night before came rushing back and he squeezed his eyes shut, curling in on himself, heedless of the fresh pain this brought.  
He felt raw - laid bare - felt like he would break into a million pieces if someone laid a finger on him.

Ginny reached out to put a hand on his forehead. 'Are you okay, Harry?'  
Harry flinched away and shook his head mutely. He needed her to go away. He needed it to be quiet and dark so he could find a skin to wrap around himself and hold everything in.  
'What's wrong?' Ginny asked, straightening up and withdrawing her hand with a frown of concern. 'Do you need a Healer?'  
Harry shook his head again, then forced his eyes open, not quite able to meet Ginny's.  
'Just sick,' he croaked, his voice hoarse. He remembered screaming - sobbing - and he felt the emotions swirling up into him again, threatening to drag him back under. 

'Can you owl in for me?' he managed to say, pushing the feelings away. He'd had so much practice pushing them away - just a few minutes more.  
She stood looking down at him a moment longer, then glanced at the door. 'Okay,' she said at last. 'Do you need anything?'  
Harry shook his head, closing his eyes again. He just needed her to go.

Ginny was silent a moment longer and then he heard her moving from the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Harry surrendered to the darkness.

\------

Harry didn't know how much time had passed before he came out of his fitful doze and felt alert enough to keep his eyes open. His room was dark, the curtains drawn, and the house was silent. He pulled the covers back slowly, feeling the burn of his back and ribs as he moved. He brought his hand up to his throat - remembered being collared, helpless. He remembered the freedom - the freedom of finally letting himself feel. 

He wanted - suddenly, he wanted to see them - see the marks Ladon had left on him. See what his penance looked like.

He sat up stiffly and slipped out of bed, moving slowly over to the ensuite. He reached for the hem of his singlet but then gasped as the movement drew bands of pain around his chest. Instead he flicked his fingers and vanished it. He stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself, eyes gritty and sore. He remembered crying, crying like he never had before, and felt the ghost of embarrassment at someone else witnessing that. He studied his face, he looked tired - hollowed - like he'd been turned inside out and put back together in a way that didn't feel quite right. He wondered what was missing.

Then he dropped his gaze, looking at the puffy, raised welts shining red against his dark skin. They wrapped around his ribs and reached towards his chest. He shifted his arm, looking at the names tattooed across his ribs, and the way each had a line struck through it … almost as though each had been marked as paid. He shook his head to clear it, not ready to think about that.

Harry turned, looking over his shoulder into the mirror and gasped. His back was a mess of angry red lines, and he could see bruises forming under some of them. It was a crisscross of pain and payment and Harry was glad he hadn't let Ladon heal them. He traced his fingertips gently over the lines on his ribs as he gazed at himself in the mirror, then he sighed and glanced across at the shower with a grimace.

It was as bad as he'd thought it would be. When he'd managed to wash and dress and make his way downstairs, Harry sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea and wondering what was next. He didn't know what time it was … didn't know what was happening at work. It didn't seem to matter, right then. Instead he looked around his kitchen, thinking how empty it looked. 

Suddenly he knew what he needed to do. He stood up slowly, then shuffled over to the Floo, throwing a pinch of powder in.  
'The Burrow,' he said, and stepped through.

\----

The kitchen was empty when he entered it. There was gentle movement at the sink as dishes washed and stacked themselves on the rack, and over by the fire a pot of soup bubbled, the ladle stirring slowly. Harry smiled faintly, feeling an echo of the wonder that he'd felt at his first visit to the Burrow seventeen years earlier.  
Then he glanced at the clock. It showed Arthur and most of the others at work. Ginny was pointing to Quidditch and Ron was travelling. Harry forced himself to look at the hand for Fred, which had moved to Mortal Peril twelve years earlier and had not moved again.

He ran his fingers over his ribs gently, feeling the welt over Fred's name. Then he moved outside. Molly's hand said she was gardening. He let the crisp November air sink through the light sweater he'd thrown on before he left. He could hear singing faintly in the distance and he followed the sound. He saw a head of bushy red hair, streaked with grey and the evidence of a pre-winter harvest. There were baskets and buckets spread all around her as she knelt in the midst of the gardens.

'Hello, Molly,' he said, a hint of a rasp still in his voice.  
She gasped and whirled around, dropping a hand to her apron, where she often tucked her wand, but she relaxed almost immediately when she saw him, only to tense again.  
'Harry - what is it? What's wrong?'  
Harry shook his head, mustering up a smile. How long had it been since he'd come to see her uninvited that she thought something must be wrong?  
'Nothing. Nothing's wrong,' he said, stepping forward. 'I just came to say hello. And to say - to say sorry for last night.'

Molly smiled, her face warming as she moved forward, gathering him into a hug. Harry ignored the sting of pain as she held him tight and embraced her in turn, letting himself have this - pure and uncomplicated, like the love of a mother.  
'Nonsense, Harry,' she said as she held him. 'I know you're busy with work. Arthur was much the same at your age - making a living for the family and everything.' Harry felt a stab of guilt run through him at her words. He thought about the night before - the brutal honesty of facing his demons, his pains and truths.  
'It's not - I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and -' he stopped, frustrated. He'd never been good at finding the words to talk about these sorts of things.

Molly stepped back, holding him at arm's length.  
'Come inside, dear,' she said. 'Let's get you a cup of tea and something to eat. You're looking a bit peaky.'  
She bustled off and Harry followed her, sinking into the chair at the kitchen table with a sigh. Molly busied herself for a moment at the kettle and then floated a cup of tea over to him, followed by a slice of what Harry realised must have been the cake from last night. He felt the sting of guilt run through him again - he was a right shit.

Molly seemed to see the emotion on his face because she sat down next to him, placing a hand on his arm.  
'Harry, dear. I've known you since you were eleven years old. What's wrong?'  
Harry looked down at his cup, running his finger over the rim of it, and then looked back up again into her familiar brown eyes.  
'I - I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. About … my life and … things.' He shifted and felt the reminder flare across his back.  
'I -' he glanced away and then resolutely met her eyes again. 'I don't think I ever said sorry for … what happened to Fred.'

Molly looked at him, her hand stilling from its gentle movement on his forearm. Her face creased with confusion and the shadow of remembered grief.  
'Harry-' she began, and then paused, cocking her head to one side. 'Why ever would you say sorry for that?'  
He looked at her, surprise stopping him for a moment. 'Because - the battle - it was because of me. We didn't stop him in time -'  
Molly cut him off with a raised hand.  
'Harry. Stop,' she said, her face determined and her voice stern. 'How long have you felt this way?'

Harry shrugged, feeling the darkness of his fears and memories surge through him. He felt his fragile calm begin to crack again and he pressed his fingertips against his ribs, trying to let the pain that flared in response ground him - make him safe.  
'All this time?' she asked, her voice gentling slightly.  
Harry nodded, feeling a stinging behind his eyes at the dawning understanding in her face.  
'Oh, dear boy,' she said, reaching forward and gathering him into another embrace. Harry struggled to hold back the emotion swirling within him. He couldn't cry. He didn't deserve to cry over this. If anyone should be crying, it was Molly. 

'Harry, dear, it wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. Fred's death was a tragedy ... but it was nothing to do with you.' She patted his hair and rocked him gently. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on keeping his breathing steady as her words washed over him.  
'Fred died because he was brave and good and wouldn't dream of letting someone like He- _Voldemort_ continue to rule. He died because he thought it was important to fight horrible people with horrible ideas, who wanted to take away the fun in the world.' Molly's voice cracked and Harry felt tears leak from the corner of his eyes. He bit his lip. 

'It's not your fault, Harry, and thinking it is takes away from the bravery of Fred's choice to fight.' Harry heard Ladon's words from the night before whisper in his mind, _It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault ... Everyone made their own choice to fight. You can't take everyone else's decisions on yourself. You can let it go._  
Harry let out a choked sob as the tears fell - as he let himself think that maybe, just maybe, they were right. 

Molly sat back, holding Harry's shoulders and peering into his face.  
'Do you understand me?' she said, her face as serious as Harry had ever seen it.  
He sniffed and wiped at his eyes, trying to get himself under control. He wasn't a boy anymore. And even when he had been, he hadn't cried in front of Molly. She had been his mother-in-law for ten years and a mother in all but name, and he'd never cried in front of her.  
Molly's gaze softened and she reached into her apron pocket and handed him a neatly folded handkerchief. 

It was at that moment that the door burst open and Rose and Hugo came running in, chanting, 'Nana, Nana, Nana!'  
Harry stared at them a moment, bringing his hand down and crumpling the handkerchief in his fist before he jerked his eyes up to meet Ron's, then looked away, roughly wiping his face on his sleeve - trying to get himself back under control. Ron was glancing between Harry and Molly with a look of rising concern on his face.  
He stepped forward. 'What's wrong?' he demanded. 'Have you and Ginny broken -' he cut himself off at the look of shocked confusion on his mother's face, and instead looked between the two of them again, gaze lingering on Harry's face and the emotion still written across it.

'Uncle Harry!' Rose cried, climbing up into his lap. Harry looked away from Ron, heat warming his cheeks at having Ron see him like this, and then wrapped his arms around Rose in a hug.  
'Hey, petal,' he said softly, kissing her bushy curls.

Molly gave his arm one last squeeze and then stood, kissing Ron on the cheek with a murmured, 'hello, dear,' before scooping a squealing Hugo up into her arms for a kiss.  
Rose wiggled free and looked up into Harry's face.  
'Why are you sad, Uncle Harry?'  
Harry looked down at her, not quite sure what to say - how could he explain twelve years of built-up pain that had fractured apart inside him?

But Ron spoke before he could, coming over to kneel beside the table, leaning gently against Harry's side as he said, 'People can be sad about lots of things, Rosie. Maybe Uncle Harry has an owie. Or maybe he read a sad story. Or maybe something happened to make him sad. You know what the most important thing is?'

Rose looked at her dad and then at Harry, and then shook her head.  
'The most important thing,' Ron said, not looking at Harry, though he leaned his weight in further, as though telling Harry silently that he was here and wouldn't be going anywhere, 'Is that we let Uncle Harry know that we're here to help make him feel happy again. Can you do that?'  
Rose nodded and looked at Harry. 'Butterbeer makes me feel happy, Uncle Harry. Do you want me to go home and get her?'  
Harry smiled at the reference to the fluffy yellow kitten they'd gotten six months earlier and which Ron had talked Rose into calling Butterbeer, over Hermione's loud protests.

'That's okay, petal,' he said, clearing his throat. 'I'm feeling much better now. Your big cuddle helped a lot.'  
Rose smiled at him and Harry's heart ached to see Hermione's grin reflected across her face.

'Right,' said Molly, 'Who wants cake?'  
Rose whipped her head around and shouted, 'Me!' at the same time as Hugo piped up.  
'Why don't you two gather in my vegetables, and I'll cut some more cake,' Molly said, looking at Ron, still kneeling beside Harry.

Harry nodded and Ron stood. They walked in silence to the back garden and Harry could see Ron darting looks at him from the corner of his eye.  
'I'm not going to break apart,' he said finally.  
Ron stopped, kicking at the ground. 'I know - I just - it shocked me, seeing you like that, you know? I mean, you never - What's wrong?  
Harry wondered where to start. 'What's right?' he said instead, letting his weariness colour his tone.  
Ron ran a hand through his hair, looking at the ground before looking back up at Harry. 'Is it Gin?' he asked.  
Harry frowned, remembering Ron's words when he'd walked in - the conclusion he'd jumped to. He could barely bring himself to examine whatever it was he was feeling for Ginny on top of everything else churning inside him.  
'Why - what makes you say that?' he asked finally.

Ron shrugged and scuffed at the ground again. 'Just - you know. You don't seem happy - either of you. Haven't for a while, I guess.'  
Harry looked at him, feeling the truth of Ron's words seep through him. Feeling them mix with Ladon's words the night before _You can't bring yourself to shake up your perfect, empty little life and do what you want for a change._  
He wasn't happy with Ginny. He hadn't been happy for a long time - years maybe.  
Ron's lips pursed in grim confirmation as he saw the realisation flood over Harry's face.

'You didn't know?' Ron asked.  
Harry shook his head, wordlessly. 'I - I just got so caught up in the day to day and I never stopped to think - to look at the whole thing. We were - we _are_ \- comfortable.'  
He could hear his voice rising, as though he was trying to convince Ron … or maybe convince himself.  
Ron shook his head. 'Comfortable is your grandma. Comfortable's not your wife, Harry. You deserve better than that. So does she.'  
Harry stared at him, feeling the words rock through him. Feeling the foundations of his life crumbling beneath his feet. _You deserve better than that. So does she._

He felt everything from the last 48 hours rushing back up to overwhelm him. He felt his breathing come faster and he looked away from Ron, unable to meet his eyes.  
'I'm so sorry,' he said, fresh guilt running through him. 'Gin - I should have -'  
Ron took a step forward and reached out as he said, 'What are you talking about, mate? You have nothing to -'

'I - I have to go,' Harry said, taking a step back and giving Ron a pleading look, hoping he would understand. He couldn't do this. He twisted on the spot, Apparating with a crack.

\-------

It was another two days before Harry went back to work, and that was only because Kingsley had sent him a series of increasingly pointed owls stating that he either needed to check himself into St Mungos, or come in to facilitate the Auror team supporting the Magical-Muggle Children Education visit, whatever that was.

Hermione had called through the Floo as well, but he'd pretended not to be home. 

During that time he'd barely seen Ginny. He'd spent a lot of time in their bedroom or in the garden, bumping into her as she came to and from training or exchanging quick words with her over takeaway. He watched her, seeing, for the first time, the magnitude of what had changed between them. He caught her giving him a puzzled glance occasionally, but neither of them broached the issue.

He arrived in the office Friday morning, still stiff and feeling much more fragile than he could ever remember, but ready to deal with the world again.  
Until Mrs. Norris pointed to the overflowing mounds of paperwork on his desk, then pulled out a sheet from the middle of it and handed it to him with a grim, 'Welcome back, Mr. Potter.'

Harry glanced at the sheet, feeling a spike of anger as he read down it.  
'The trip today is a Reparation Society trip?' he called out, his voice rising.  
Mrs. Norris stepped back inside his office as though she'd been standing outside the door, waiting for his response. Probably had.  
'Yes, Mr. Potter. Minister Shacklebolt is very keen to see that the children's first excursion into Muggle London goes smoothly and safely. He asked me to pass on his clear expectation that you will personally ensure this is the case.'

Harry gritted his teeth, looking down at the piece of parchment in his hand. 'I have to stand around watching a bunch of pureblood brats learn about buses?'  
'And their parents,' Mrs. Norris confirmed, unruffled by the murderous look on Harry's face. 'I believe there will be reporters, as well, for this first visit. It's quite a momentous occasion - visits initiated by some of the oldest Wizarding families to the Muggle world for the purpose of breaking down barriers and prejudices that formerly led to -'

'Yes,' Harry gritted out. 'Thank you, Mrs. Norris. I can read the propaganda for myself.' He could also read Kingsley's clear direction underlined at the bottom of the page.  
_You will attend, Harry. This is not negotiable._  
He sighed, his anger leaving him all of a sudden. It took too much energy to stay angry. All of his emotions were like this at the moment - surging up in him like a storm and then fading away so that he felt hollow - adrift.  
'Fine, where am I meeting them and who's with me?'  
Mrs. Norris' eyes widened in surprise before she recovered and said, 'They will be gathering in the ground floor foyer at half past nine. Jones, Smith and Johnson have been assigned alongside you.'

Harry nodded, and then turned back to his desk, eyeing the stack of paperwork with distaste.

\------

It was exactly half past nine when he exited the lift into the Ministry atrium to see the large, excited crowd of children and parents milling about. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. The now-familiar dull ache it caused spread through him, making him feel anchored, grounded somehow in the moment. The marks were fading now - he checked them in the mirror every morning. He wondered how he'd feel when they were gone.

Harry pulled his mind away from that thought and looked around for the other three Aurors. Phillipa Jones waved him over from the edge of the crowd and nodded her head at an energetic young witch in Muggle sportswear, with her blonde hair up in a ponytail. She was moving through the crowd, followed by a couple of young men who seemed to be handing out clothing.

'That's Jessica Pimms, from Muggle Relation,' Jones said. 'They organised the whole thing. She's just getting everyone set up right. You should have seen some of the clobber this lot turned up in.' Harry glanced over the crowd, noticing a few dressing gowns, a pair of riding boots and - yes, someone had put their child in a swimming costume.  
'It’s November for Gods' sakes,' he muttered. Then he spotted a familiar face and smiled.

'I'm going to say hello to Andromeda,' he said to Jones, gesturing towards the back of the crowd.  
'Sure thing, boss. I've been fully briefed, you do your thing,' she said. 'I think they want you to do a security speech before we go, though.'  
Harry nodded, trying not to roll his eyes, and skirted the group.  
'Harry!' came an excited cry and Harry dropped his gaze to see Teddy hurrying over to him, his hair becoming a bushy black and his eyes turning bright green.  
'Teddy,' he said, breaking into a wide, surprised smile. 'What are you doing here?'  
'I'm going on the trip,' he said, puffing his chest out. 

'Shouldn't you be at school?' Harry asked, trying to remember if it was holidays and he'd forgotten.  
Teddy's face fell and at that moment Andromeda approached them. 'Teddy's had a spot of trouble at school and he's spending a few days at home until he feels better.'  
Harry looked down, concern spiking through him, but Andromeda continued. 'Nothing to worry about, just a bit of nonsense in response to the new Werewolf Rights Act.'  
Harry frowned, anger rippling through him at the thought that his Godson was being -  
'Harry,' Andromeda said, breaking his train of thought. 'It's nothing to worry about, really. It gives us a chance to enjoy a nice day out.'

That brought Harry back to his original question. He looked back at her.  
'What are you doing here? Caught up with this lot?' He waved his hand dismissively.  
'Draco invited us, actually,' Andromeda said, and Harry's face crinkled in confusion.  
'Draco … Malfoy?' he questioned.  
'The one and only,' came a drawling voice from behind him and Harry spun to see Malfoy moving out of the crowd. He was dressed impeccably in Muggle clothes, smart trousers and a soft-looking grey shirt, open at the neck. He looked Harry up and down as he approached, his gaze lingering in a knowing way that Harry couldn't interpret.

Harry looked away, feeling unaccountably uncomfortable, the antagonism he'd felt in his office the week before strangely hard to muster - it was one of those emotions that seemed to spark, and then fizzle out.  
Malfoy closed the distance between them and gave Andromeda a kiss on the cheek before saying, 'Hi, Teddy.'  
Teddy's hair flashed a bright white for a moment, then flickered and returned to Harry's darker shade.  
'Hi, Draco,' Teddy responded brightly, then, 'Hey, Scorp.'

Harry followed Teddy's wave with surprise to see a figure peeking out from around Malfoy's legs, small hand held in his as he smiled over at Teddy. The boy was about the same size as Rose, with pale skin, his hair the same shining platinum as the man standing next to him. Harry felt shock run through him.  
'You have a son?' he blurted, unable to reconcile _Malfoy_ with the concept of fatherhood.  
Malfoy arched an eyebrow at him. 'Incredibly astute, Potter. The Auror force is clearly in good hands.'

Harry flushed and opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment Susan Johnson tapped him on the shoulder and gestured to the front of the room where the Muggle Relations woman was beginning to speak. Harry struggled, thrown by this unexpected revelation and somehow wanting to know more.  
Malfoy made a 'shoo' motion with his hand and Harry narrowed his eyes at him, but turned to leave.

Pimms ran through their schedule for the day, reminded everyone that they wouldn't be using magic, and that any wands seen in use on the trip would be removed. She also stated that they should keep conversation about differences between the magical and Muggle worlds to a minimum until they returned from the trip. Then she turned to Harry with a bright smile.  
'And here we have the Boy Who Lived, himself, to make sure we're safe and happy as we explore the Muggle world today. Could you say a few words, Harry?'

Harry grimaced slightly at the title and then stepped up beside Pimms onto the base of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, his eyes scanning the crowd. He caught the smirk on Malfoy's face and made himself look away. The media training team had told him time and again that scowling made him look intimidating.

'Good morning, everyone,' he began, putting on his 'public speeches' voice. 'I will be accompanying you today, along with Aurors Jones, Smith and Johnson.' He indicated each in turn. 'We don't anticipate any issues on the excursion - the Muggle world is not a dangerous place - but we will also be along to make sure that you all feel safe and comfortable in what might feel like a daunting experience. Please call on us at any point during the day. Are there any questions?'

Harry forced himself not to sigh as Malfoy's hand rose into the air.  
'Yes?' he said, aiming for professional politeness. The hint of a smirk on Malfoy's face told him he may have missed it slightly.  
'I was just wondering if you could share with us your opinion of the Pureblood Reparation Society and the work it does to foster Magical-Muggle understanding?'  
Harry eyed him, fighting to keep the scowl off his face now. He decided the fact that Malfoy was a dad was irrelevant to his character. Malfoy knew exactly what Harry thought of the Pureblood Reparation Society, damned slippery -

'I think any efforts to increase the understanding we have of the Muggle world and to normalise interactions with it are a positive for us all,' he said, his smile slightly tight as he noticed a reporter from the _Prophet_ off to one side, scribbling it down. Great, now he was going to be splashed across the papers as a Pureblood Society supporter. That was going to make continuing to say no to them difficult.

He clapped his hands, 'Right, let's get going, shall we?'

The group moved in a more or less orderly fashion out the front doors and onto the street, where they milled around in front of a large double-decker bus. Harry eyed it, wondering if it had any magical relationship to the Knight Bus, but it seemed to be perfectly Muggle. He could see many of the parents wondering the same thing, as they climbed aboard and nothing moved or shifted around them.

Teddy was already on the bus and he waved from a seat in the back, making sure Harry spotted him. Harry moved down the aisle and then froze as he reached the seat Teddy was indicating. Malfoy looked up at him from the window side of the double bench seat with a smile that had an edge of challenge to it.  
Harry looked around for another empty seat - the last thing he wanted to do was sit next to Draco Malfoy and have to pretend to be polite to him in front of the children. Everything around them was full.

'Sit here, Harry,' Teddy said, pointing to the seat in front of him, as though he didn't think Harry had noticed it. Harry looked between Malfoy and the seat behind, where Teddy was sitting with Malfoy's son, who was bouncing eagerly on his seat. Andromeda was behind them, already deep in conversation with another woman Harry vaguely recognised as a Rosier.  
'Teddy,' Harry began. 'I'm sure -' he hesitated as he realised he couldn't remember the boy's name. 'Ah, I'm sure your friend wants to sit with his dad. How about you and me sit together?'

Teddy shook his head. 'He's not my friend, he's my second cousin, Grandma said. Anyway, Scorp wants to sit with me, don't you?'  
'Scorp' nodded his head eagerly, and then leaned forward, 'Are you Harry Potter? Teddy told me heaps about you. Did you really beat my papa at Quidditch?'  
Harry looked between the boy and Teddy, the fact that they were related sinking in slowly. That must mean Malfoy was Teddy's-

Malfoy turned around in his seat, addressing his son. 'When did he tell you that? And don't say heaps.'  
'The other day, when we had lunch with 'Dromeda, and you said, go play.'  
Malfoy scowled and Harry couldn't help the slightly confused grin that spread across his face in return. Suddenly the thought of being in forced proximity to Malfoy for the day wasn't the worst thing in the world.

He sat gingerly in the seat beside Malfoy and the bus took off, jolting him backwards. There were a few cries of alarm and Harry saw white-knuckled grips on a number of seats. Johnson seemed to have the situation in hand, getting up to calm the few anxious passengers. Harry returned his attention to the boy, twisting around, grimacing slightly at the movement.  
'I did beat him at Quidditch,' Harry confided conspiratorially, glancing across at Malfoy to see his eyes flick up from Harry's chest, a strange look in them that Harry couldn't identify.  
The blond boy widened his eyes and looked at his dad. 'You told me you were the best flyer at Hogwarts,' he said, tone accusatory.  
Harry widened his eyes too, putting on his best innocent expression as he looked at Malfoy, 'The best flyer? Really?'

Malfoy's scowled again and his cheeks tinged with the faintest of red. Harry felt a confused swirl of emotion in response to it. Was Malfoy _blushing_? Part of him couldn't believe he was even having a semi-civil conversation that included the man.  
'Yes, well. You don't count,' Malfoy said, sniffing slightly.  
'Did you beat him all the time, Mr. Potter?' Scorpius said, kneeling on his seat and leaning forward.  
'Sit down safely, please,' Malfoy said, at the same time as Harry grinned and said, 'Sure did. And my name's Harry, what's yours?'

The boy smiled, showing a missing tooth in the front. 'My name is Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. Can you tell me a story about Quidditch? Did you fight a dragon? Teddy said you fought a dragon.'  
Harry laughed at the boy's babble of questions, feeling his chest lighten for the first time in days. He remembered another blond boy who was so proud of his very big name, so many years before. But there was nothing of Malfoy's pride and arrogance in Scorpius' eager, open face. He opened his mouth to answer but Malfoy shook his head gently at the boy.  
' _Ça suffit, mon chou_ ,' he said, bringing a finger up to his lips. 'Mr. Potter is too busy to answer questions.'

Harry shot a glance across at him at the sounds of the melodious words falling from Malfoy's lips. Was that _French_? He ignored his curiosity and turned fully to Malfoy, arching an eyebrow. 'Mr. Potter, is it now? That's awfully formal of you, Malfoy.'  
Malfoy sniffed, turning to look out the window, 'Yes, well. Some of us were raised with proper manners.'  
'I was raised in a cupboard,' Harry said flippantly, then snapped his mouth shut as Malfoy turned his head sharply to fix him with piercing grey eyes.  
Behind them, Harry caught Teddy's look of surprise out of the corner of his eye and then Scorpius piped up. 'Why were you in a cupboard Mr. Harry?'  
'I - uh - I used to play there. For fun. I need to check something at the front of the bus, now,' he said hurriedly, cursing himself. He pushed out of his seat, smiling at the two boys, while avoiding Malfoy's eyes. He moved back up the aisle, kneeling next to Jones at the front and asking her for the run down of the security plans for the day. 

Harry barely listened as she spoke. Why had he said that? The only people he'd ever told that were Ron and Hermione. He'd been all over the place all week but to say _that_ in front of Malfoy - _and the kids_. He'd have to pass it off as a joke. He'd be able to pass it off as a joke, wouldn't he?

He was lost in his thoughts until the bus stopped, its doors opening with a hiss. Pimms stood up, turning around with a smile.  
'Alright, everyone. We've just arrived at Borough Market. Remember what we talked about - no magic and stay together, please. It's a busy place, and while we have tracking charms on all of you, it would be best if we stayed within eyesight of each other. You all have some Muggle money on you, yes?' She looked around at the various nods, some more certain than others.  
'Fantastic! Remember, if you're unsure about the currency, say you're from America and visiting on vacation.' She smiled widely. 'Let's have fun!'

Harry huffed. Somehow, fun was the last thing he thought the day would bring. He stepped out of the bus and looked around the market, pulling his mind away from the strange interaction he'd had with Malfoy on the bus and focussing on doing his job. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on settling his mind, sending out the tendrils of thought he'd struggled for so long to master. He got readings of curiosity, happiness, anxiety, confusion and frustration, but nothing in the vicinity that indicated anyone had malicious intentions.

He opened his eyes and stepped back as people started to file off the bus. Malfoy was one of the last to exit, Scorpius holding his hand and hopping from foot to foot in his excitement. Malfoy gave him a lingering look on his way past, but didn't say anything and Harry was grateful for that fact.

When everyone was off, Harry took a good look around. In front of them was a bustling marketplace. People were everywhere, and stalls were crowded into the thronging space. Overhead giant letters over the entrance spelled out _Borough Market_. The whole site was situated under a high, domed glass roof, and it looked light and airy. Harry shrugged, guessing it beat his dingy office with its enchanted window as the only source of interest.

He followed the group in, looking around to see that Jones, Smith and Johnson had all taken up vantage points on the outskirts and people had already spread out, peering excitedly at items. Harry looked around curiously. Everywhere he looked were stalls and stands overflowing with food. He saw meats of every description, piles of cheeses, a riot of fruit and vegetables. There were things he'd never seen before on display, and everywhere, Muggles shopping and eating and haggling. The smells were incredible, food frying, boiling, roasting. He looked around, slightly overwhelmed by the abundance of life.

Harry spent the morning wandering through the market, watching the slightly-overwhelmed looking group of witches and wizards, and taking in the sights and sounds and smells all around him. The excursion seemed to be going reasonably well. His team had had to put a some subtle _Confundus_ charms on Muggle shopkeepers after a few flagrant breeches of the Statute of Secrecy - some idiot had started requesting dragon steaks and doxie eggs. But apart from regular misunderstandings over the money, the group had settled in well to the outing.

Teddy ran back to see him periodically, pointing out some funny thing he'd seen a Muggle do, or the chilli beans he'd tasted that had made his mouth tingle and put a red tinge into his hair, or the bouquet of candy flowers Andromeda had let him buy.

Harry watched him with a smile on his face, his eye catching occasionally on the two blond heads pressed together as Malfoy leaned down to show Scorpius something, or picked him up so he could reach the samples on the counter of the deli stalls. The boy had an ear-to-ear grin and was chattering away constantly to his dad. Malfoy showed no sign of telling the boy to quiet down, the way he had on the bus. They both looked perfectly at home as Malfoy handed out coins and collected items into a string bag he'd picked up somewhere. As he watched them, Harry was struck that this wasn't Malfoy's first visit to a Muggle space … it was something he wouldn't have believed - even a day ago - that Malfoy could possibly, maybe, in a small way, have changed.

The thought occupied Harry's mind on and off during the day. He felt a growing sense of wistfulness as he watched Malfoy with his son. He'd long given up on the hope of having children of his own - but sometimes, when he was watching Ron with Hugo and Rose, or now, when he watched Malfoy showing his little boy the world, he felt the ache of that regret deep in his bones. Harry forced his mind away from those thoughts. What's done was done and there was no purpose in dragging his mind back over it now.

He fielded questions from other people on the trip, about something a Muggle had said, or done, that they didn't understand, but Malfoy had no such questions. Occasionally, Harry turned, to find grey eyes on him from across the market, but Malfoy soon turned back to Scorpius' never-ending stream of chatter.

When the bus arrived back at the Ministry close to dusk, Harry was one of the first off, waving a hand to remind the passengers about the closest Apparition point. Malfoy stepped off near the end of the crowd, a sleeping Scorpius held in his arms, head tucked into Malfoy's neck. He brushed his cheek over the boy's hair as he stepped down, and Harry was struck by the absolute devotion in his face.

Then Malfoy glanced across at him and raised an eyebrow. 'Not a bad group of people for a lot of slippery, devious, evil Purebloods, hey, Potter?'  
Harry waited for anger to stir at the comment, but all he felt was a resigned sort of acceptance. He remembered Hermione's words about donations and programs that were doing good across the wizarding world.  
He shook his head, saying, 'Fine, Malfoy. I may have misjudged the situation.'  
Malfoy's grin held a tinge of triumph. 'I'll have your Secretary set up an appointment to talk about how we can support the sustainability of the Auror Field teams then, shall I?'

Harry felt shock run through him, 'How do you -' he began.  
'Slytherin, Potter,' Malfoy shrugged, his eyes flicking down to Harry's chest for an instant before coming back to meet his. 'I know all sorts of things.'

With that cryptic remark, he turned away, disappearing back into the building. Harry stood for a long time, staring after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ça suffit, mon chou_ means 'That's enough, my darling.'
> 
> Thoughts, questions, comments?  
> Would love to know what you made of that :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for heavy discussion of infertility.

It was another three weeks before Harry returned to Release.

He'd told himself he wasn’t going to go - he shouldn’t go. He remembered how he'd felt as though he'd been pulled to pieces and reassembled after last time. He didn't know if he could go through something that intense again.

But then he watched the marks fade from his skin. Watched the strange new tension that was growing between him and Ginny. Watched the same problems, and the same frustrations and the same disappointments pile up until he couldn't take it anymore.

His mind kept returning to the way it had felt to be empty, and free and to not have to think. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch … a desire that he hadn't even realised had wormed its way under his skin until it was something he'd had to do without.

He owled Ladon on a Thursday night.

_I want to visit again. Please._  
_Harry_

He addressed it to the Club, in case the bird couldn't locate a man whose name wasn't real. The answer came back within the hour, the handwriting tugging at some faint memory, but it was the message itself that interested him far more.

_Come tomorrow night. Nine o'clock._

He spent the next twenty four hours in a state of restless agitation. He almost forgot to wish Ginny a good trip as she packed on Friday morning and headed off to catch her International Portkey for the New York Yetis coaching clinic she'd been invited to. She’d seemed on the verge of saying something all morning as they moved around each other, each getting ready for the day … but despite the looks and the hesitations, she didn’t speak. And Harry didn’t push her. If felt cowardly … but he didn’t know if he wanted to have that conversation with her … whatever it was.

So he focused on the fact that the clinic was a brilliant opportunity for her and tried to push away the guilty whisper that it also meant she'd be away the entire weekend and that no matter what state he came home in that night, no one else would need to know where he'd been.

\-----

Harry stood in front of his mirror, trying to decide which shirt to wear. Should he wear something more casual, or wear a button up - what was the etiquette for something like this? If it was anything like last time, he wouldn't be keeping his shirt on … the thought made him flush slightly and he pushed it away. It wasn't like that.

'Harry?' came Hermione's voice from downstairs. Harry jumped at the unexpected sound and grabbed a black t-shirt. He pulled it on, then dashed downstairs. Hermione's head was in the Floo and she looked him up and down with curiosity.  
'Are you coming for pub night, tonight? Ron said you didn't reply to his note?'  
Harry's face fell as he remembered reading it and setting it to one side, his mind returning to the possibilities the night would bring. He didn't think he'd taken in a single thing all day.

'I - ah - no. I can't make it,' he said, rubbing a hand through his hair, still damp from the shower, before twisting it up into a messy bun.  
Hermione looked him up and down again. 'You're going out?' she asked. 'There's no Ministry functions on tonight, is there - no, you're not dressed for one anyway,' she answered her own question.  
Harry strove to head her off before she drew who knew what conclusions.  
'No, just going out. With a friend.' He realised his mistake as soon as he'd said it. Hermione's eyes brightened and she opened her mouth.  
'No one you know,' he cut her off. 'It's more of a work meeting than anything.'  
Hermione pursed her lips but didn't pursue it.  
'Okay, Harry. We might drop by on Sunday? I feel like it’s been ages since we spoke properly.'  
Harry nodded, thinking - hoping - he'd be in good enough shape by then to hold up a conversation. The thought sent a tingle of excitement through him. He didn't know what the night would bring - and somehow the anticipation was heightening his need to be there already.

When it was almost nine, he Apparated to the nearest point and made his way quickly to the doors of Release. He felt as though something was driving him forward - wondered if the charms of the building had strengthened.  
Dahlia greeted him with a slow smile. 'An appointment tonight, pet? You _are_ getting bold.'  
Harry flushed slightly and moved towards the doors of the public space, but then he hesitated, half turning back to her.  
'Where - um -'  
'He wants you in the green room tonight, pet. Third door on the left, past the bar.'  
Harry nodded and muttered a quick thanks, already moving forward.

He paused in front of the door, his hand already on the handle, then he let go of it, and knocked twice.  
'Enter,' came a voice from within.  
Harry pushed it open and stepped inside, taking in the room with a glance. It was small and the walls were a deep, emerald green. To one side was a bench. Harry saw a flash of silver before his eye was drawn to the other side of the room. Ladon sat there. He was leaning against the arm of a couch with no back, and he was the very picture of cool confidence. He watched Harry enter and take in the room, not speaking.

Harry had meant to be polite - deferential - but the first words out of his mouth were, 'Slytherin, were you?'  
Ladon's lips quirked into a smile for the briefest of moments before he controlled himself.  
'Perhaps I just like the colour,' he replied. 'If you prefer we change rooms, we can abandon what I have planned for you tonight.'  
Harry glanced behind him, taking in the range of implements on the bench. There was a spiked wheel, a range of straps of different materials, two thick candles, and an unfamiliar device that looked Muggle. Then Harry's eye caught on the collar, and held. He sucked in a breath and shook his head mutely.

Ladon made an approving noise and gestured to the other end of the couch when Harry looked over at him. Harry moved towards the couch and sat hesitantly on the end, not sure what was expected of him.  
'Relax, Mr. Potter,' Ladon said. 'We’re not starting yet. Your last visit was … shall we say, rushed.' Harry's memories of the night churned through him and he recalled coming in to confront Ladon, and the next minute agreeing to be bound and -  
'Normally,' Ladon continued, 'we have all new members complete an assessment so we can understand what it is they want from the Club and can match them to the appropriate partner, or experience. That is what we will begin with today.'

Ladon reached down to a couple of sheets of paper at his side and passed them to Harry. Harry took them automatically, his mind catching what Ladon had said, with a flash of concern. He hesitated, his headlong rush to be back at the club caught short.  
'What do you mean, match to a partner … we won't …?'  
Ladon smiled again, and Harry thought he detected a hint of pleasure to it.  
'We will see what the forms say, Mr. Potter, but I would be very surprised if you and I are not compatible … based on your last visit.'

Harry felt relief flow through him and he looked down at the paperwork to disguise the feeling. Why should he feel relieved that he would stay with Ladon? He didn't even know the man … but then he remembered the soothing voice, and the haunting melody hummed as strong arms held him while he cried. He remembered the way Ladon had recognised - in an instant - exactly what he needed … and had given it to him. Harry realised, with a jolt of surprise, that after a few short weeks, Ladon already knew him better than some of the people he'd been friends with for years … he thought about the things Ladon now knew about him and thought that in some ways, he’d shown the man more of his true self than he had anyone else, bar Ron and Hermione. The thought was disorienting and he focused on reading the list in front of him to block it out. What he was seeing immediately distracted him and his eyes widened in shock.

It was a list of … of experiences, was the only way he could describe it. He looked at the main headings. _Bondage and Suspension. Impact. Sexual Activity. Sensation Play. Cutting/Piercing/Modification. Humiliation. Body Part Torture. Fetishes. Roleplay. Service and Restrictive Behaviour. Voyeurism and Exhibitionism. Animal Roleplay. Age Roleplay. Bodily Fluids and Functions._  
Under each was detailed a range of specific experiences, actions or scenarios. He felt his shock growing as he scanned his eyes down the list - he had no idea some of these things even _existed_. Some of the terms he'd never heard of … _Figging … Riding the horse … Puppy Play …_

He looked back at Ladon, feeling lost and overwhelmed. He hadn't expected this - he'd thought it would be just like last time. Ladon would take control and get him to the place where he could lose himself. Where he could forget he was Harry Potter. Where he could just be.  
Ladon seemed to sense Harry's hesitation and he smiled reassuringly.  
'We use the same sort of colours that we did in the scene. Red for stop or no - things you have no interest in, or don't want to do. Yellow for slow down or unsure. Things you might like to try but will require further discussion or negotiation. And green for go. Things you know you like or definitely want to try. I can talk you through any terms you don’t understand.'

Harry looked back at the list, eye catching on the first few items, _Blindfolds. Bondage (light). Bondage (heavy)_. He felt his interest prick at the words and he nodded. He'd been thinking … a bit … about the sorts of things he might like to do … or have done to him. Yes … he could do this.

'If there's a whole category that doesn't interest you, that's fine. Just mark it red, and move on.'  
Harry nodded, fingers already moving down the page, leaving little splashes of colour behind.  
Harry heard Ladon shift in his seat and glanced up to see Ladon's eyes on his fingers, watching his magic with a sharp intensity.

'Oh … sorry,' he mumbled, feeling self-conscious. Wandless magic was so second nature to him that he forgot that for most wizards it was incredibly unusual … especially for minor spells like a colour change. Harry had only learned that one because Rose loved it when he painted with his fingers for her.  
Ladon looked up to meet Harry's eyes and waved his hand.  
'No, go on,' he said, standing up and moving over to the bench, touching and rearranging the implements laid out there. Harry watched him a moment longer and then returned to the form.

When he was finished, he cleared his throat and Ladon turned around, moving back to the couch and sinking onto it with casual grace. He reached out his hand and Harry passed him the papers, nervousness and embarrassment fighting within him. What if he'd chosen the wrong things … or strange things? What if he'd just chosen plain, or boring things that Ladon wasn't interested in?  
The voice inside him whispered again, asking why it mattered that Ladon approved of his choices, but Harry pushed it away, looking up as Ladon spoke.

'High for voyeurism. You _do_ like to watch. I knew it.'  
Harry flushed, remembering how entranced he'd been when he came in to see what the club was actually about. He remembered the sleek lines of the body of the man in front of him, the power and grace in his movements, the absolute abandon and trust of the woman under his hands. He felt his heartbeat speed up at the memory.

Ladon smiled slowly, seeming to follow his thoughts.  
'I've always been more of an exhibitionist myself,' he murmured, smile sharpening as he pinned Harry with deep blue eyes. 'I like to know people are watching me.'  
Harry felt a flush of heat run through him and he tried to push away his reaction. That wasn't why he was here. Things weren't right with Ginny, but he was still married. This wasn't-

'Maybe we could do a scene on the public stage one day, get you some polyjuice if you're worried about someone recognising you ...' The voice was warm and Ladon looked interested in the idea.  
'Is that what you do?' Harry asked, latching on to anything to change the subject. It was something he'd been wondering for a while - was it just Ladon's name that was fictional, or had he created an entirely new person? 'Polyjuice?'

Ladon looked surprised for a moment but then he relaxed back into his seat and his intensity dropped. 'No, never liked the stuff. Made me feel - not right - in my own skin.' Harry nodded, he'd always felt the same way.  
'No, I'm a metamorphmagus, low level. It runs in my family and I came into it late. I can change some basic things about my appearance, just enough to make me a new me.'

Harry looked at him, curiosity spiking anew to know that the face he was seeing was a façade as well. He wondered what the real Ladon looked like … how similar he was to the man sitting in front of him right now. Harry thought for a moment about asking what family the talent ran in - or what he looked like underneath - but he figured that probably defeated the purpose of why Ladon wanted to be unrecognisable to start with. And besides, he realised, it really didn't matter to him. He wanted what this man - this Club - could offer. He didn't need more information than that.

Ladon returned his attention to the form, murmuring as he ran his fingers down it.  
'Bondage, restraints, impact - broad range.' He nodded as his eyes scrolled. 'Makes sense with how well you responded last time.'  
His finger paused and he looked across at Harry with interest, 'You've selected a few things under Service and Restrictions. Following orders, rules, eye contact, begging, kneeling.' Ladon licked his lips quickly. 'Those are all a particular interest of mine.'  
Harry felt a tingle of pleasure at the thought that he'd done something to please Ladon.

'You called me sir in the last scene. That's something I generally require - and it looks like it fits well with your wishes. Is there anything you don't want me to say or call you? Anything you would find ... upsetting or triggering?'  
Harry thought for a moment, casting his mind back to all the things he'd had people say to him or about him during his life. It was an image from his childhood that rose to the front of his mind.  
His Uncle Vernon was standing over him, face almost purple with rage. Harry couldn't even remember what he'd done to deserve the spew of words out of his uncle's mouth. It could have been any one of a hundred things or a hundred occasions.  
'No good, worthless layabout! Just like your shiftless parents aren't you, boy? Well? Answer me!'

He blinked and re-focused on the man in front of him. It had been a long time since he'd thought about his uncle or that part of his life.  
Ladon gave him a curious look and his voice, when he spoke, was gentle.  
'Want to tell me where you went just now?'  
Harry shook his head. 'I don't want to be called boy,' he mumbled, looking away. 'And I don't want to be told I'm ... no good.'

When he looked back, eyes darting up at Ladon again, the look that met his contained a hint of surprise. But Ladon gathered himself quickly, giving a reassuring smile. 'That's fine. I called you good boy last time, and you seemed to respond well to that.'  
Harry thought about the words, about the praise that had come with them and he nodded.  
'That - said like that … it was okay.' He dropped his eyes as he said the last bit, 'I liked it.'

Ladon made a sound of approval and returned to the papers in front of him. Harry reddened slightly as he remembered some of the other things he'd indicated.  
'I gather from your lower score for humiliation that you're not interested in words like slut and whore either?'  
Harry thought for a moment, the words sounding odd coming from the mouth of the put-together man in front of him. Then he thought back to what he'd seen that put-together man doing weeks ago at the Club and shivered.  
He shook his head, 'No, I don't think so,' he replied.  '... Is that okay?'

Ladon leaned forward intently. His attention abruptly focused completely on Harry.  
'Mr. Potter-'  
'Call me Harry, please.'  
'Fine ... Harry ... This is about you, not me. It is absolutely about what you want and need. I am just here to facilitate that release - that need. You must always feel comfortable to tell me exactly what you need in any given moment. Can you do that?'  
Harry thought for a second, not sure that he could, but he nodded slowly. 'If it's like that - about me - what do you get out of it?' he asked, reddening again.

This time the look that met his was positively devilish, as Ladon grinned broadly. 'Oh, Harry. I get everything out of it.'

Ladon shuffled the papers, then pulled out his wand, tapping them to banish them before he stood, looking down at Harry, something dark coming into his eyes.  
'Are you ready to start?' he asked.  
Harry nodded.  
Ladon made a tsk of disapproval and Harry remembered last time.  
'Yes,' he said. 'Sir.'  
Ladon nodded.  
'I want you to undress, leave your clothes there-' He pointed to where he'd been sitting on the velvet covered couch. 'And go and get the collar from the table.'

Harry felt a tingle of nervous anticipation run through him at the thought that he was doing this again - that he was putting himself at someone else's mercy … someone who could make the world disappear, if only for a moment. Then he stood and pulled his shirt off, folding it neatly, before he toed out of his boots, nudging them together just under the couch with his foot. Then he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them off along with his socks. He put his wand and glasses on top of the lot. His hands dropped to the waistband of his pants and he hesitated, glancing across at Ladon.  
'You can leave those on, if it makes you more comfortable,' Ladon said, his eyes flicking briefly over Harry's body. 'I noted your red on sexual activity.'  
Harry gave an internal sigh of relief, ignoring the slight whisper of _what if_ in his mind.

Harry moved over to the bench, focusing his attention on the thick leather collar he'd worn the last time. He ran his fingers gently over it before picking it up and turning back to Ladon.  
Ladon took it from him and reached up without hesitation to wrap it around Harry's throat, cinching it to just the right amount of pressure.  
Harry sighed at the weight of the band around his neck and the sudden sense of disconnection from his magic. He felt something shift and settle inside him, and his shoulders relaxed for the first time in weeks. He wanted, so badly, to let go again.

'Stand there,' Ladon said, pointing to the middle of the smooth black floor.  
Harry moved to the spot and stood, looking around himself. He couldn't see any sign of restraints.  
Ladon approached a moment later, a piece of material hanging from his hand.  
He held it up. 'This is a blindfold. It's charmed to completely remove sight. You're not even going to see light. I'm going to put it on you.’  
Harry looked at it, intrigued - for a moment he wondered if that was something they could use for apprehending suspects, but he pushed that part of his mind away. He didn’t want to be Head Auror in this room. 

He nodded in response to Ladon’s words. Ladon cocked an eyebrow.  
'Yes, sir,' Harry said instead.  
Ladon moved behind him and Harry felt the brush of the silk shirt Ladon was wearing against his back and shoulders as Ladon reached around to wrap the blindfold over Harry's eyes. He shivered slightly at the sensation against his exposed skin.

The moment Ladon had tied the knot, Harry's sight disappeared. He felt like he'd been plunged into a pool of darkness and he moved his head from side to side, trying to test it. The feeling was disconcerting and he raised his hand to touch the fabric.  
'No touching,' Ladon cautioned and Harry froze.  
'Colour?' Ladon asked.  
Harry thought for a moment. Not being able to see was strange, and left him feeling somewhat vulnerable, but it wasn't something that he couldn't manage.  
'Green,' he said, voice confident.

'Good boy,' Ladon replied and Harry felt that same shiver of warmth at the words - the approval behind them.  
'We're going to play now, Harry,' Ladon said, the sound of his voice moving to Harry's left, where the bench full of implements was. Harry turned his head in that direction. 'Your only job is to stay still. No matter what I say or do, you will not move. Is that understood?'  
Harry thought about it for a moment - thought about what he'd seen laid out on that table, and shivered at the idea. It was a shiver of dread … and of anticipation. He remembered the sting of the lash, and the beautiful, bone-deep ache he'd felt for days. The sensation that had kept him grounded, reminded him he was still inside his own skin, not scattered across the world.  
'Yes, sir,' he whispered.

Harry heard a scrape as Ladon picked something up from the bench, and then the faintest of footsteps as he moved back towards Harry.  
'What is your safe word, Harry?' Ladon asked.  
'Red,' Harry said, wondering if Ladon expected him to use it.  
'Good,' Ladon murmured. 'Let's begin.'

Harry tensed, waiting for the first blow to fall, but what he felt instead was the lightest of touches, traced across his shoulders. He almost jumped at the unexpected sensation, but then he remembered what Ladon had said. He had to stay still. He only had to do one thing.  
The touch trailed across his left shoulder and down his arm, curling over his bicep.  
Harry realised with a tingle of surprise that it was Ladon's fingertips that were touching him. He didn't know how he should feel about that. The touch was gentle, the slight scrape of fingernails against his skin hinting at the restrained power in the man. Then Ladon's fingers traced down over Harry's wrist and linked with his for the briefest of instants.

Then the touch was gone completely. Harry stood, feeling his skin tingle with awareness of where the soft exploration had occurred. He was so tempted to turn his head, to try and figure out where Ladon was, or what he was doing, but he forced himself not to move.  
A moment later, the touch returned, down his right arm this time, curling into his fingers before disappearing. Harry felt an urge to curl his fingers around Ladon's - to hold him there. The feeling confused him - why should he want that?

The next touch came down his back, tracing lightly over his shoulders and down his spine. There was a featherlight touch over the last of the bruises he still had from last time he had seen Ladon, and the fingertips faltered for an instant, before they continued their path.  
Harry's back felt alight with nerve endings, like each trailing trace was burned across his body. Then Ladon moved in front of him - Harry could hear the swish of his clothes as he changed position.

Harry was prepared for the gentle exploration to continue, instead he felt a sharp flare of pain across his chest. He hissed in a breath but didn’t change positions. The flare subsided into a sharp ache centered on his nipple. He realised Ladon must have clamped it with something. He was absorbing the sensation when he felt an equal flare of pain on his other nipple, then a line of cool smoothness dangling down onto his chest.

He breathed out, shakily, all of a sudden aware that he was standing in front of Ladon, in his underwear, blindfolded, with clamps across his nipples. He could feel himself redden in response to that internal picture, but Ladon's words drove any sense of embarrassment from his mind.  
'Well done, Harry,' Ladon breathed, and the light touch returned, smoothing over his chest, tugging lightly at the chain. Harry sucked in a breath at the renewed spikes of pain this caused. A curl of heat spread through him in response to the sharpness and the fact that Ladon’s hands were still on him. 

It spread through him, pooling in his groin. He was aware again that he was all but naked in front of a man who was dark and dangerous and beautiful in the way that a predator was. He could feel his heartbeat speed up at the realisation that he found Ladon beautiful. He didn’t want this to be about sex - this wasn’t about sex - but he had to admit to himself that the touch and the edge to Ladon’s actions had their own dark appeal.  
The pressure disappeared after a moment as the chain fell back to Harry's chest. He breathed out a shaky breath and tried to get himself back under control, using the flood of guilt that his body’s response had provoked to try and kill the interest. 

Harry heard Ladon move away. Then silence.

He stood, tense and waiting, the seconds ticking into minutes. He felt his momentary arousal fade away and then he became increasingly aware of the silent room, his ears straining for any indication of where Ladon was, or what he was doing. He wanted to take the blindfold off - to check. But he'd been told to stay still. He could stay still. After all he'd sat on stakeouts for hours before. How much different was this?

But it was completely different. Now that he didn’t have the distraction of the touches against his skin, it was going against every instinct he had to allow his sight to be taken away - to make himself vulnerable to whatever was coming. How could he trust - then Harry stopped short. That was what it came down to. Trust. He either had to trust Ladon not to take this too far - had to trust Ladon to put him back together if he fell. He had to accept that instead of controlling every part of his life, Ladon had control over what would happen next … Or he had to stop this. Right now.

Harry felt the options swirl through him. He tried to be rational and logical and analyse his choices with the detachment he used for his field work … but he kept coming back to how it had felt to unravel - to open up parts of himself he hadn't even known he'd hidden and let them all fly out into the world. How it had felt to stop thinking, stop feeling worried and sad and alone and empty and to be led to the edge of a precipice and be caught once he jumped.

There was no choice in the end. He exhaled, and let his whole body relax. He closed his eyes underneath the blindfold, accepting the darkness - welcoming it. He let it take away one level of his awareness of the world - gave it up willingly. He would wait as long as Ladon wanted him to wait. He did not have to be the one to make those decisions.

Ladon's voice came from across the room, in the direction of the couch.  
'Well done, Harry.' It was soft, but contained a depth of emotion. Harry realised that Ladon had been testing him - had somehow known he would struggle and had pushed him into this situation to see what his response would be. He couldn't bring himself to feel annoyed by this. He was feeling calm now. Placid. Accepting.

Ladon moved back across the room again and Harry heard something else lift from the bench. There was a click and a faint buzz of sound.  
Ladon stepped back in front of him.  
'I'm holding an agiel,' he said. 'It's somewhat like a Muggle taser … but it's been enhanced with magic.' He paused and Harry heard that same faint buzz of sound again.  
'Do you know what it can do, Harry?' Ladon asked. Harry remained silent.  
'You can answer.'  
'No, sir,' Harry said. He wasn't even sure what a taser was.

'It can do all sorts of things,' Ladon said. 'It can cause the faintest of tingles.' Harry heard a whisper of sound and realised Ladon was moving closer to demonstrate. He felt the buzz of static electricity down the side of his neck, the sensation almost like a caress. His skin felt so much more sensitive in the absence of his sight - the path of the agiel a whisper of what was to come. He forced himself not to sway towards it.  
'Or it can sting like an ant.'  
Ladon pushed the tip of it against his stomach and Harry felt a sharp flare of pain in response. He sucked in his breath as the feeling shuddered through him. He felt his arousal spike again in reaction to the touch. He tried to push it away … and at the same time he wanted to feel it again.

'It can make you feel like a knife is being dragged over your skin.'  
Ladon ran the agiel down Harry's arm and he felt a slice of pain. He waited for the hot welling of blood over his skin, but nothing came. He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed.  
'It can even,' Ladon said, pushing the blunt end of the agiel into his ribs, 'break bones.'  
Harry sucked in a breath but no pain came following those words. After a moment, he heard Ladon take a step back and the agiel left his skin.

'I'm going use this on you, Harry. Is that alright?'  
Harry felt the throbbing sting of the times it had already touched him. He felt an ache inside of himself, a darkness he didn’t know he harboured, but which begged to be fed. He thought about letting Ladon use him … letting him do what he wished … and he felt a gut-deep sense of rightness. He trusted Ladon to know what he wanted.  
'Yes, sir,' he said.  
'So good, Harry,' Ladon murmured, and then he began.

The touch was light at first, and slow - a tingling of sensation that had the faintest hint of a bite to it. But the very fact that he didn’t know where it would come from next, or where on his body it would touch him made it feel far more intense. He found himself anticipating, waiting. But Ladon always touched him somewhere else, or varied the intervals, so he didn't know when the next contact would come.  
He forced himself to stop guessing and just focused on being still and letting Ladon take control.

And then came the pain. It was light at first too - a shock for an instant, then before he could move, another and another. He felt a strange sense of pleasure entwining itself around his pain. It made him crave the next touch while he felt the ache of it pushing at him, forcing his concentration inwards. The first long, hard stripe of agony across his abdomen pushed a hiss from his lips and Ladon stopped his movements.  
'Colour?' came a voice from beside him.  
'Green,' said Harry, after a long moment in which he fought to bring his focus back into his mind, instead of being spread throughout his body. He felt a hint of panic that Ladon would stop. He didn’t want Ladon to stop. He -  
'You're perfect, Harry,' Ladon murmured. 'Just perfect.' And then the agiel returned to his skin.

The intensity, the frequency, the pain - it all varied. It all left him unbalanced. It pushed him inwards, touch by touch - pushed his consciousness slowly and inexorably towards one single thought. _Don't move_. He could do that. He could become that. He could let every single other thing go and just do that. He had no sight and he willingly gave up his hearing as he turned his focus inwards. Touch was all there was.

\----

When Harry drifted slowly back into awareness, he could hear singing. A gentle melody. A sound that made him feel safe. Protected. It took a while before he realised it was coming from the man laying beside him - the man he was curled around and half on top of. It took longer before he realised that man was Ladon. He lay quietly, feeling as though he was floating, letting the soft words drift over him - he couldn’t understand them, but they were beautiful.

_Ainsi commence le voyage_  
_Semé d'écueils et de mirages_  
_De l'amour et de ses tourments_

He brought a hand slowly up to his face and realised the blindfold was still draped loosely over his eyes. He opened them and squinted against the cracks of light peering in around the corners of it. Then he slipped it slowly from his face, mourning slightly at the acknowledgement that the scene was done. His fingers traced over the collar that was still wrapped around his neck and he drew some comfort from its presence - he was still Ladon’s.

Like last time, Ladon offered him water as soon as he stirred and Harry drank it down greedily, marveling as he moved that nothing hurt. He felt like he was wrapped in a cushioning charm - like nothing could touch him. Everything felt slightly fuzzy and he lay back down, head on Ladon's chest, content just to lie there, curled in close and listening to the lilting croon of his voice.  
It was a long time before Ladon spoke, and when he did, Harry was feeling much more aware of himself and his surroundings, though he still had that sense of languid satisfaction - that sense that he wasn't quite grounded in his own body.

'Where did you learn that colour spell?' Ladon asked quietly, his fingers stroking lightly over Harry's bare skin.  
'Hmmm?' Harry murmured, not quite able to place what Ladon was referring to.  
'The spell you used to complete the form earlier? I've never seen it before.'  
'Oh,' Harry said softly, pushing at his consciousness until he could focus. ‘I learned it for Rose - Her - my friend's daughter. Her mum can do it with a wand, but -' Harry shrugged, sentence trailing away. He just didn't need his wand anymore. He wondered if it would make any difference if he didn't carry it. Wondered what it meant that he could wonder that.

'You never wanted any of your own?' Ladon asked, a strange tone to his voice.  
Harry forced himself to concentrate. 'Kids? Yeah. Heaps. Always did.' He felt the shadow of that grief and longing flicker through him, but it was muted, distant from the bubble he was wrapped in. Somehow that made it easier to talk - easier to say the things he never said. Ladon's voice was gentle when he spoke again.  
'It's none of my - we're not in the scene anymore, so you don't have to say anything you don't want, but why … why didn't you?'

Harry was speaking before he'd consciously decided to.  
'We can't ... _I_ can't. Took them ages to figure out why … I died. Did you know that?’ Harry laughed softly - not sure why that was funny now. ‘I had death inside me and now ... Now I can't create life. Or that's their theory anyway.'

The echo of his pain at being told that pulled at him but Harry concentrated on the feel of Ladon's arms around him and the sound of Ladon's heartbeat under his cheek. Speaking seemed easy - easier now than it ever had. He didn’t let himself wonder why that was - why he’d barely talked to anyone about this. Ron and Hermione knew … but sympathy from people with their own children was bitter comfort.

'I don't know if it was harder for her,' he mused, 'because she comes from such a big family. Or for me, because I've never had a family and I wanted one so bad.' Ladon's arms tightened around Harry, but he didn't comment, so Harry continued.  
'We tried for years, and it got more and more desperate until sex was just about trying for a baby. And then eventually ... we stopped.'

'Stopped?' Ladon asked, after a moment when Harry didn't continue.  
'Stopped trying. Stopped having sex. Stopped talking about it. Everything.'  
'I'm sorry,' Ladon said, and his fingers continued their soft stroking.  
Harry frowned and then shrugged. 'It's not something I think about a lot any more. I gave up on it a long time ago.' Then a thought struck him and he glanced up.  
'Do you have any?'  
'Kids?' Ladon asked. When Harry nodded, he hesitated for a second and then spoke.  
'I do. A son. S- Steven. He's five.'

Harry looked at him, lip quirking into a smile for the first time.    
'You don't strike me as the kind of man who names his child Steven. But I understand you not wanting to tell me his name.'  
Ladon met his eyes and then looked away.  
'I would, but ... he's my son. My life here and my life with him don't cross over.'

'You have to protect him,' Harry said, feeling a twinge of jealousy - that Ladon had someone to care for? He didn’t know. He pushed it away and looked back down, breaking eye contact. The glint of gold on Ladon's finger caught his eye.  
'You're married?' he asked, looking back up. He saw the flash of pain and loss that crossed Ladon's face.

'Not anymore,' he said. Then he shifted, sitting up straighter. Harry sat up as well, feeling like he'd crossed some unspoken line. Feeling like maybe, sharing confidences with this stranger wasn't a good idea. He stopped himself - _was_ Ladon a stranger? He’d pulled Harry apart and put him back together twice now - he knew things _no one_ else did. And then Harry realised that it was exactly because Ladon had no place in his normal daily life that made speaking to him so appealing. Harry didn't have to face him every day - didn't have to look him in the face and see his own fears and weaknesses staring back at him.

'Your wife,' Ladon began slowly. 'Things aren't good?'  
Harry thought about how to answer that - about whether he wanted to answer it. And then he figured he had nothing to lose. He shook his head.  
'They haven't been for a long time,' he said slowly. 'I think I only just realised it though. Or only just admitted it, maybe.'  
Ladon looked at him, expression considering. 'Can I ask, why you're still with her? Are you staying because you want to … or because you think it's the Right Thing to do?'

Harry stared at Ladon a long moment as his mind unfolded that question - as it sunk into his consciousness and things began to rearrange themselves around it.

He remembered a time, twelve years earlier, when almost those exact words had been thrown in his face.

He'd spoken at the Malfoys' trials. Not Lucius, but the other two. He'd appeared in the gallery - listened to the accusations and rebuttals. Draco Malfoy had watched him intensely through the whole thing. When Harry stood to speak about Malfoy Manor, about the Forest and about the hesitation all throughout the last years of the war, Malfoy had stared at him with a kind of shocked curiosity.  
After he was acquitted and the family were ordered to pay reparations, Malfoy cornered Harry in the corridor outside.

'Why did you do that?' he demanded.  
'I- what?' Harry said, flat footed, the 'don’t worry about it’ he'd been about to give dying on his lips.  
Malfoy rolled his eyes and spoke more slowly, enunciating every word.  
'Why. Did. You. Do. That?'  
Harry just stared at him.  
'It's a simple question, Potter. Did you speak for me because you wanted to, or because you thought your image as the Golden Boy meant you needed to?'

Harry had felt his anger stirring. Why couldn't Malfoy just say bloody thank you and for once not turn something into a fight? He'd decided then and there that Malfoy would always be a bastard and that he wanted nothing more to do with him.

Now, twelve years later, looking into the eyes of a completely different man, Harry wondered, if perhaps, Draco Malfoy had known things about him, years ago, that he was only just realising now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics are from Georges Moustaki's _La carte du tendre_
> 
> As always, would love so much to hear what you thought about that one.


	9. Chapter 9

He looked in the mirror and concentrated. He watched as the black bled from his hair like ink washing down a drain. He watched as the faint blush of colour faded from his skin and his features narrowed. He watched as his eyes shone icy blue for a moment longer before flashing to a mercurial gray. 

Draco watched as Samael Ladon's face disappeared and his own emerged. He reached out to touch the mirror, tracing his fingers over a visage that looked so familiar and yet so alien. Sometimes he wondered whose face was the real one - whose life was the real one. He felt his body shift slightly, rearranging itself under his clothes. And as he settled back into the skin of Draco Malfoy, he felt the last of Ladon's confidence slip away, and all of the thoughts he'd been trying to suppress came screaming back, louder than ever. He winced and rubbed at his temples.

He didn't need the mirror normally, but tonight ... tonight he'd been drinking. Draco never drank at the club. But he hadn't been able to get _him_ out of his mind. 

With a sigh, Draco turned from his reflection and stepped towards the Floo, throwing a pinch of powder in.  
'Parkinson Estate.'

\------

' _Are you serious right now?_ '  
Draco grimaced and looked down at the drink in his hands, unable to meet Pansy's eyes. He'd only been here five minutes and everything was unravelling. He never should have introduced her to Dahlia. They were too similar. He should have known at the time that they would conspire to ruin his life.  
'It's nothing,' he muttered. 'Dahlia's a Muggle - she doesn't understand, and she's taking it out of context.'  
Pansy raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. 'I'm not sure what context, "The boss is obsessed with this new bloke who walked in. Some wizarding guy. Big scar on his face", could be taken in. Aside from you having the stupidity to involve yourself with the one person you know you shouldn't.'

Draco gritted his teeth. He should have bought Pansy out years ago. He was far beyond the need for the start-up loan he'd initially approached her for, back when Release had been nothing more than a dream. If she wasn’t still a partner, the confidentiality clauses would have prevented Dahlia breathing a word about Potter's presence in the club, even if the two of them went out drinking together every night of the week. Nosy bint loved to keep Pansy informed. Normally Draco didn't mind - it was nice to have someone who wasn't a part of the scene to be able to chat with sometimes. But this … this he hadn’t wanted Pansy to find out.

If he was honest with himself, he couldn't get Potter out of his head. And he'd never done well with things being trapped in his head. He eyed Pansy - took in her uncompromising expression, then threw back the rest of the brandy in his glass and Accioed the bottle to himself, re-pouring as he spoke.

'He just _turned up_ one day, alright? Out of nowhere. Harry fucking Potter on my doorstep. Prat was waving around his authority, like I was supposed to fall over myself to answer questions for the big, bad Auror.' He snorted softly at the memory. At least Dahlia had warned him who was coming … he didn't know quite how he would have reacted if he'd walked into the club to see the last face in the world he'd ever expected to be drawn there.

'And how exactly did you let that lead to you fucking him?' Pansy demanded, fixing him with hard eyes.  
'I'm not fucking him!' Draco objected, ignoring the spark of desire that leapt through him at the thought. It had been so long since he'd been interested in anyone that way … not since Astoria had passed, and that had been three long years. The thought of her brought that same painful ache back, and he felt unaccountably guilty for even considering Potter in the same light.  
'But you want to be,' Pansy said, crossing her arms and leaning back. 'And don't even try and deny it, Draco Lucius Malfoy. You've been nuts for Potter forever. And now you think you've finally got a crack at him.'

'He doesn't know it's me,' Draco muttered, the guilt swirling in a new direction. He hadn’t meant things to get as far as they had - had never expected that Harry would return to the club, let alone that he would demand a scene. The memories surged back into his mind and Draco let them wash over him. He'd been reliving both of Harry's scenes on repeat - barely able to believe they'd happened. Harry had been so perfect - so responsive. He'd never had anyone fall as hard or far under his hands as Harry had. The memories were still raw and brutal in their intensity. He didn't think he'd ever realised - ever understood - what Potter had wrapped up inside him, through all of those long, hard years. He wondered if he had, whether things might have turned out differently.

Pansy kicked his foot from where she sat in the chair across from him and Draco started, wrenching himself out of his memories.  
'What do you mean, he doesn't know it's you?' she demanded, eyes hard.  
Draco shrugged, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. 'He - well, he knows Samael is a front … but he never really asked who I actually was …' He trailed off, aware that the excuse was flimsy. Harry hadn’t asked because the man he'd had all his dealings with - Samael Ladon - had given no indication that he knew Harry personally. That he, in fact, was the last person Harry Potter should ever trust, or be vulnerable in front of or reveal every single one of his deepest darkest fears and pains to. 

Draco threw back the drink in his hand and re-poured.  
'I've fucked up,' he said with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes.  
'Yes,' Pansy agreed bluntly. 'You have. I really don’t think getting involved with Harry Potter - childhood nemesis, long time crush, Saviour of the Wizarding World and Head of the fucking _Magical Law Enforcement_ \- really counts as "keeping a low profile," do you?'  
Draco thought about his gut reaction to Potter's presence - to turf him out - to tell him to get fucked, with his judgement and his laws and his self-righteousness … but there had been this fascination in his eyes. His look had lingered on the images spread around the blue room that day and Draco had recognised the yearning for what it was - had recognised what it felt to be a moth before a flame, drawn without understanding that what you sought could consume you.

And like the flame, Draco hadn't been able to stop himself from inviting Potter inside. This had always been the way with him, since he'd been introduced to what it was to be a dominant, all those years ago. There was something in him that called to pain and pleasure and control. There always had been - as a child it had been expressed through cruelty and bullying, arrogance and playing at grown-up power games. When he'd left - after the War - when he'd been just one face among many, far away from Britain, he'd learned what to do with the desires that ran through him. He'd stumbled into his first club, wide-eyed and entranced, and he'd learned how to use those needs, how to channel them. How to give pain wrapped in pleasure and facilitate release. How to craft the darkness he craved into something that brought light to others.

He remembered Harry's broken sobs. Remembered him falling so deep into subspace, Draco had worried he'd gone too far. It had been so many years since he'd misjudged a scene, but with Harry, everything had been so intense - so fast. Draco had been caught up in the story playing out through the lashes across Harry's skin. Had remembered his own faults and guilts, lain long dormant. Had taken Harry to the very edge, and then pushed him over. He still remembered every instant of the scene in excruciating detail. Didn't know if he would ever forget it.

He focussed slowly back on Pansy. She was watching him silently, wine glass in her hand. When his eyes met hers, she spoke, slowly and clearly.  
'You need to stop this, Draco. You can't see him again. It's too dangerous for you. And for the club.'  
Draco felt a spike of anxiety run through him at the thought of not seeing Harry again, not being able to trace his fingers across his skin, not being able to watch as he let go, not being able to catch him when he fell.  
He shook his head. 'Pans. You don't understand … you didn't see the look in his eyes. I want - he needs m- it.' Draco shut his mouth abruptly, suddenly aware he'd had too much to drink for this conversation. He shouldn't have come to see Pansy after he'd already been out for the night.

Pansy's gaze softened and Draco knew he was in trouble. She leaned forward, putting a hand on his knee.  
'Draco. You need to use your brain for this one. I know … other parts … of your body are probably steering the ship at the moment. But think, please. You've climbed so far. You're at the top again. You're doing good things - you and Blaise. And Scorp is happy … Just - when it gets out that you've been torturing the Chosen One …'  
She trailed off, not needing to say more.  
Draco opened his mouth to protest. It wasn't about sex - yes he found Potter attractive. Yes, that was a rare thing for him, but what he'd experienced had been so much deeper than … and then he stopped and he thought about what she'd said.  
He thought about what would happen if others knew Harry had been involved with him at the club and the idea sent a cold chill through him. He'd be sent to Azkaban. It wouldn't even require a trial. They'd only need a glimpse into Harry's memories to see the so-called depravities a former Death Eater was subjecting him to … and from there, accusations of Unforgivable curses, illegal potions, who knew what else.

Draco frowned and slumped back into his seat, closing his eyes. She was right. He knew she was right. It was far too dangerous - it was insanity. Not to mention Potter's reaction when he found out. Draco knew Potter was getting attached to Ladon, opening up to him - telling him things he would never, _ever_ reveal to Draco Malfoy. He knew what he was doing was wrong. It went against everything he knew and valued about the trusting relationship he built as a dom … but somehow he couldn't stop himself.

He thought about the other scenes he'd done in the last month, in the time since Potter had come back into his life and allowed Draco to pull him apart. Normally Draco dommed one or two nights a week, and spent the rest of his time at the club making sure things were running smoothly. Normally, those arrangements suited him perfectly - he lost himself in a scene, focussing completely upon the person under his hands - on knowing them, understanding them, giving them what they needed. But lately … lately he'd found his thoughts straying. Lately he wanted to run his fingers over smooth, brown skin, wanted to see bright green eyes drop before his in deference, wanted to know that he was the one - the only one - that could give Harry what he needed.

It distracted him. He knew he wasn't operating at his peak and that some of those he regularly did scenes with had noticed. None had said anything, but Draco felt it in the slight hesitancy between them. He didn't like it. It was wrong. He'd always been able to give his all to those he was with - it was part of what he got out of the scene - that single-minded control that allowed him to narrow his focus to a specific instant of time.

Now … now it seemed that that specific instant was the one playing on repeat in his head - the one he wanted to experience again with an intensity that scared him.

Draco opened his eyes, ignoring Pansy's knowing gaze, and threw back another glass of brandy as he wondered for the first time, who was the moth and who was the flame.

\---------

Draco felt himself unaccountably on edge as he Flooed to the Ministry and signed in, collecting his badge and making his way to the lifts. He tried to pull himself together. It was just Potter. He could run rings around Potter. Surely it wouldn't be that hard to sit down and have a civil conversation with the man about achieving public safety outcomes. But then a wisp of a memory flickered to life in his mind: the desperate sense of loss in Harry's eyes as he'd reached up to unfasten Draco's – Ladon's – collar from his neck. The shuddering tension that had filled him as his magic flooded back into him and he began to put the mask of Harry Potter, Head Auror and Golden Boy, back on.

It had only been five days since the scene they'd done together. Draco wondered whether Harry's mask would be faultless by now … it hadn't been when they'd gone on the bus trip, a week after their first scene. Harry had tried to hold himself together, but there had been cracks everywhere. Most people probably hadn't noticed them, but Draco had been looking. It was there in the ginger way he moved, of course … and in the way Harry pushed his fingers against his healing bruises, his body relaxing slightly as he did - the way Draco had seen so many do - grounding himself. Reminding himself. 

It had been there in the way he'd tolerated Draco's presence, more relaxed, less able to martial his defences - still drained emotionally from the intensity of what they'd done together. He remembered Harry's words, _I was raised in a cupboard_ , and the panic that had filled him as he realised what he'd said.  
He wondered what Harry would say today, how he would behave.

And then he was at the door to the Auror Wing. He took a breath and straightened his shoulders, pulling on the mantle of confidence he normally wore like a second skin, but which felt contrived these last few weeks. The doors opened before him and a handful of Aurors looked up. Most glanced away, but one or two gazes lingered, eyes narrowing. Draco didn’t let anything show on his face as he strode towards the door marked 'Head Auror.' Nowadays, most of the looks he got when out in public weren't hostile. He'd done a lot of work to make it so that when most people thought Malfoy, they thought parties and donations and reformation. It helped, as well, that his father was confined to the Manor and hadn't been seen publicly in years.

Still, he thought, feeling the eyes of some of the Aurors on his back, some never forgot.

He stepped through the open door, smiling at the shrewd woman at the desk outside Potter's office.  
'Good morning, Mrs. Norris,' he said, reaching into his pocket for the bouquet of flowers he'd purchased and shrunk on his way in. He waved his wand over them and then held the pink and white valerian blooms out to her.  
'Thank you for making the arrangements,' he said, as she took the flowers from him, summoning an empty vase from the illusionary windowsill in the corner of the room.

'A pleasure, Mr. Malfoy,' she said. She hesitated, looking towards the closed door to the Head Auror's office and then down at the flowers in her hand. Then she leaned across her desk towards him, speaking in a low voice.  
'He's been in a bit of a strange mood all week, Mr. Malfoy … quieter than normal. I … I think if you take the conversation slowly, that might be the best approach.'  
Draco's heartbeat skipped at the thought that Harry might be different this week because of him … because of what they'd done. He smiled again and murmured his thanks, then strode towards the closed door.

He felt a curl of heat run through him when Harry called out a low and gravelly, 'Enter', at his knock. Draco schooled himself - forced himself to get his feelings under control. This wasn't about him, wasn't about them - there was no 'them'. This was about advancing the cause of the Pureblood Reparation Society and supporting needed reforms. He took a breath and stepped inside the door. He immediately sought Harry out, eyes flicking over his broad shoulders, messy hair, strong arms as he leaned back in his chair and crossed them, fixing Draco with a piercing green gaze.

'Malfoy,' Harry said, with a nod.  
'H - Potter,' Draco said, cursing himself internally at the almost-slip. He moved forward. 'Thank you for meeting with me.' He reached Harry's desk and held out his hand, curious to see if Harry would reject it again. Harry looked down at the proffered hand with a hint of surprise. Then, after a long moment, he uncrossed his arms and reached out, clasping Draco's hand in a sure grip.

Draco felt heat flow through him at the touch - at Harry touching him, voluntarily. He felt the faintest tingle of Harry's magic against his skin, as though it was reaching out to him … curious about him. He remembered his own stolen touches from the weekend before - Harry had been blindfolded and Draco hadn't been able to help himself. Had _needed_ to know how Harry would feel under his hands. He flushed slightly at the memory and pulled his hand away, looking down and straightening his robes before sitting. When he looked back up, Harry was watching him, head cocked slightly to one side as though studying an interesting case. Draco mentally pulled himself together. He wasn't a fifteen year old with a crush anymore. He might have only had feelings like this two or three times in his life, but that didn't mean he couldn't be an adult about them.

'I won't take up too much of your time, Potter,' he said, injecting cool professionalism into his tone. 'There are two things I want to discuss with you. The first is to ensure that we both have the same understanding of the current reforms being proposed and the possible threats they will engender. The second is to establish the most appropriate way of ensuring this doesn't come to pass - advocacy, pressure or financial support for the existing system.'  
He paused, checking to see if Harry was following him. He was silent and had crossed his arms again, but his expression was sharp.

Draco took a breath and began. 'Alright. So as I understand the situation, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is spearheading a case for reduction in Auror funding more broadly, but particularly in the number of active patrol members?'  
'Why are you doing this?' Harry asked, voice cool and measured.  
Draco frowned slightly. He'd thought they were beyond this point.  
'I represent the Pureblood Reparation Society,' he began, 'I often -'  
Harry waved his hand impatiently. 'I know that. I've looked into the Society, and your role in it. Why are you here, now?'

Draco hesitated, not sure what Potter wanted from him – the truth certainly wouldn't go down well. _I had myself volunteered for the job because I was curious to see who you were now._  
'The Reparation Society is concerned about -'  
'Malfoy,' Harry interrupted, hard green eyes seeming to look right through him. 'Cut the shit. Why are _you_ here?'  
Draco felt anger stir within him at Harry's audacity – he would never let a sub speak to him … but he reined himself in abruptly. Potter was not his sub. Harry Potter was Head Auror and Draco's role was to form an alliance with the Auror force via creating a mutually beneficial relationship. Nothing else. He ran that through his mind again and again. This was business.

Still. It was Potter. Draco had never been able to bring himself to bend before Potter – and he definitely wasn't going to now.  
'I'm here,' he said, mustering all of his Malfoy disdain and injecting it into his tone, 'Because I assured the Board that if anyone could get you to pull your oversized head out of your arse and see what help was being offered, it would be me.'  
To his surprise, Harry snorted, a wry grin snaking across his face for the barest instant. Then he leaned back in his chair and nodded, as though confirming something for himself. 

A moment later, Harry spoke, continuing the former conversation as though the exchange hadn't happened.  
'Most of the other International Confederation countries have similar views – they believe we're in an unprecedented peacetime and the reduction in force is warranted.' His voice was quiet and measured, no hint of the anger and passion that had characterised Draco's last visit to this office. Draco stared at him, thrown for a moment by the sudden change in tone, but then he took in Harry's words.  
'Right. That will make things more difficult, but not insurmountable.'  
Harry watched him, unspeaking, so Draco continued.

'As I said, we have three options; Advocacy, pressure, or financial support.'  
'I won't be party to putting pressure on anyone,' Harry said immediately, lips pursing in a hard line.  
Draco considered the options, his mind flashing quickly over what they knew – what he could use. He had nothing good on Javier, and if the consensus was international, it would be much harder for that line of action to succeed anyway.  
'Of course,' he said, nodding his head, as though conceding the point to Harry.  
Potter's eyes widened fractionally, as though surprised Draco hadn't wanted to push the issue. Draco felt like rolling his eyes at Harry. Really. Could he be any more obvious with his 'Slytherins always take the underhanded paths – especially Malfoys' attitude.

'So,' Draco continued. 'Advocacy. We'll need a series of well-placed media stories – not originating from this Department, of course. Key Wizengamot members can be briefed, here and in the International Courts – it's ultimately they who will deal with this mess when it blows up in our faces -'  
'Wait,' Harry interrupted, the surprise more obvious on his face now. 'You actually … believe this is an issue – a danger?'

Draco looked at him flatly. 'Potter. You lived through a War. You killed the most dangerous Dark Wizard of our time.' He hesitated, then remembered Harry's raw, brutal honesty as Draco had held him in his arms. He couldn't return that, but perhaps he could give just a tiny piece of himself in response. He owed Potter that much.  
'I - I was a part of that. You know that. I saw it all, up close and personal. I lived with Voldemort and the worst of his followers … for over a year.' He couldn't repress the faint shudder that ran through him as the memories, normally so deeply buried, flickered for the barest instant. Everything felt so out of control lately, parts of his life he'd thought long gone, returning with an intensity that left him feeling unbalanced. It was a sensation he'd spent long years escaping from.

'They're not all dead,' Draco said, meeting Harry's now-frowning gaze steadily. 'They're not all gone. And even if they were, there will be others. There will be other evils. Other ideals. We – humans – are weak, ultimately.' He avoided rubbing his hand across the mark that still scarred his arm – a reminder of his own weakness. He took a deep breath and admitted something he never thought he'd say out loud.  
'We need people like you to be ready for when they come again.'

Harry stared at him, looking shocked at Draco's admission - at his willingness to speak openly about the past. Draco held his eyes, willing Harry to see the truth of his words. Harry watched him a moment longer before he seemed to snap himself out of it, leaning forward in his chair to engage with Draco properly for the first time. Draco felt a flare of triumph that what he'd said had resonated with Harry … and maybe just a touch of satisfaction that perhaps Harry wouldn't be so quick to assume he knew what Draco's motives were next time.

Then Harry pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and Draco's eyes dropped to the red welt that ran up the inside of his forearm. He felt all other thoughts leave his mind and desire spark in his chest at the sight of - at the mark he had left on Harry with the agiel. Harry hadn't healed it. Draco couldn't take his eyes off it - this proof that what had happened between them was real … that Harry had wanted it. Then Harry shifted and drew his sleeves back down. Draco's eyes flicked up to Harry's face, to see his cheeks had darkened slightly.

'The Auror budget doesn't extend to Healers?' Draco asked, with a nod to Harry's arm, unable to stop himself from testing Harry's reaction.  
Harry couldn’t quite hold his eyes as he mumbled something about not having got around to it. Then he changed the subject abruptly.

'Speaking of budgets, what's this rubbish about a Christmas Ball in three weeks? It's all the Junior Aurors are talking about. Some spread in the _Prophet_. If the Reparation Society is serious about funding reform, throwing ridiculously expensive parties is hardly the way to go about it, I would have thought.' Harry leaned back again, crossing his arms and raising his chin slightly as though he'd scored a hit. 

Draco smiled. Harry's eyes widened slightly, as though that was the last response he had expected.  
'Since I doubt you've ever hosted a tea party, Potter, let me fill you in on a few details. As gauche as it is to talk money … Yes, the Ball will cost me a knut to put on - the budget's at about 1.2 million Galleons at last count.' He held up a hand as Harry sat forward to protest, no doubt at the outrageously high sum.

'But that's just the costs to put it on, Potter. I run _the_ premiere event of the year. Anyone who's anyone wants to be at the Malfoy Solstice Ball. I'll have six hundred guests there - including internationals. And the cheapest ticket is ten thousand Galleons. I'm having a Phoenix-level entry this year - one hundred thousand Galleons.' His smile widened at Harry's dumbfounded look.  
'The Ball is the perfect opportunity to set social policy trends among the elite of the wizarding world - Ministers, Voting Members of the Wizengamot, Education Board Heads, Business Leaders … and I'll be damned if we net less than twenty million on top of that.'  
He shrugged at Harry's shocked look.

'The top is where the power is. It always has been. If you want to change things, you change them at the top. Speaking of which, Potter,' Draco said, leaning forward, an idea striking him with an intensity that took his breath away. ' _You_ have a rather large vault filled with Galleons, by all accounts. Perhaps it's time to put your money where your mouth is.'

Harry was already shaking his head, sitting back in his seat.  
Draco shrugged slightly, as though it was of no concern to him whether Potter chose to go. 'The perfect opportunity to begin that advocacy campaign. We can draft up some key messages in advance. I can ensure you get in all the right ears.'  
Harry was frowning, but Draco could see he was considering it. He hoped Potter would say yes – badly wanted him to say yes, for more than just the campaign.  
Harry Potter hadn't once attended a Ball at the Manor, despite the Society extending him an invitation every year … not that Draco had particularly wanted him there. 

'What will the money raised be put towards?' Harry asked, and Draco knew he had him.  
He suppressed the smile that wanted to spread across his face.  
'I believe the upcoming campaigns are around Extension of Wizarding Law Protections to Sentient Magical Creatures and Muggle-Magical Educational Reform. But I would certainly be happy to put you in touch with the Board if you wanted to discuss other causes with them.'

Harry shook his head. 'No, that's – they sound like … good causes. I – ah – hundred thousand, you said?'  
Draco avoided raising his eyebrows. He'd known Potter had cash, but to jump straight to the top.  
'An entry level attendance -'  
Harry waved his hand dismissively. 'I have too much of the stuff anyway. And they're always giving me more. Sounds like it would be better off in your hands.'  
Then he stopped and barked a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at Draco, the hint of a smile lingering on his lips.  
'If someone had told me at any time in the past twenty years that my money would be better off in the hands of Draco Malfoy -' He laughed again, but there was no edge to it.

Draco let a small smile slip across his face. 'Indeed, Potter. Amazing, the way one's views about things can change.'  
Harry looked at him, then rubbed his hand absently – unconsciously, it seemed – over the mark Draco knew was streaked up his forearm.  
'It is,' Harry agreed. 'It is indeed.'

\----------

Draco paused in front of the gates to the Manor and took a deep breath, smoothing his hands down over his robes and squaring his shoulders. Gods, but he hated this place. He forced the thought from his mind and strode up to the large wrought-iron frames. They swung open silently at his approach and he felt the cool tingle as he stepped through the wards and they recognised and accepted him. There'd never been a noticeable change when he'd been growing up. These were Malfoy wards and they'd been keyed to him from the moment he was born. But now ... now they were altered - layered over with Ministry protections – restrictions really, to make sure Lucius stayed where he was supposed to.

Draco put on his mask, the way he'd been taught, made his face impassive – cold – and walked up the broad path, gravel crunching under his feet. His father hated that he approached on foot, like a guest. That was the reason he did it, of course – that and so many other things. It was petty, but then so was his father, these days.  
Draco approached the doors, stepping up and then entering as these too swung open before him. The Manor was always so pleased to welcome him. Some small part of Draco felt a pang of sympathy for it – for the innumerable ways it tried to please him when he visited, tried to entice him to stay.  
It wasn't the House's fault that most of his worst memories lived here – that no matter the rooms it redecorated, the fires it lit, the windows it opened, all he could smell was death and all he could feel was darkness.

There was a crack and Draco looked down to see a small, bent figure looking up at him.  
'Hello, Modrey,' he said coolly.  
'Young Master,' Modrey said, inclining his head, so that his large ears flopped forward. 'Master is in the red drawing room. Modrey shall take you to him.'  
'That's okay,' Draco said, holding back a sigh. 'I know the way.'  
He'd freed all the other elves years ago, but Modrey had insisted he stay – that to abandon Master Lucius just could not be borne. Draco hadn't tried to fight it too hard – the idea of anyone, including his father, being shut up alone inside this living tomb, was just too much.

He made his way up familiar stairs and through familiar hallways, pausing before the door to his father's study – the room he'd once ruled the house from. Now, from what Draco could ascertain on his mandated monthly visits, his father basically lived in this room. He squared his shoulders again and knocked sharply before opening the door.  
Lucius looked up from where he sat beside the fire, dressed in his formal robes, as though ready to step out at any moment, a book in his hands and a glass of wine beside him. Draco tried not to let his disdain show - it was ten in the morning - though he didn't suppose his father had much else to do. It wasn't like he had an active social life these days. As far as Draco knew, his visits were the only ones his father received.

Lucius closed the book, sitting it down on the table beside himself and clasping his hands on his lap. He didn't rise. He didn't speak. Sometimes a monthly visit went by with no more than a dozen words exchanged between them – sometimes Draco wondered why Lucius insisted upon them. Sometimes he wished he could tell his father to jam his name and his bloody inheritance up his arse. But not today. Today he needed access to the Manor. 

'Father,' he said, inclining his head slightly.  
'Draco,' Lucius said in return, unmoving. His face gave nothing away – lined with age now, but still as impassive as Draco ever remembered it.  
'I won't take too much of your valuable time,' Draco said, unable to help the hint of disdain that crept into his tone. His father's eyes flashed slightly in response and Draco felt that tiny spark of satisfaction that riling his father still gave him, albeit, all wrapped in guilt and bitterness.  
'I've come to put the final arrangements in place for the Ball Saturday next,' he said. 'I've spoken to the Ministry and your confinement wards will change on the Friday evening, as usual. You'll need to be in the East wIng before that happens.'

'Of course, Draco,' Lucius said, voice holding the slightest hint of mockery. 'We wouldn't want to do anything to upset the Ministry, now, would we?'  
Draco ignored him. 'I will be sending the usual house elf cleaning company through from tomorrow.'  
Lucius cocked his head to one side, hair spilling down over his shoulders - reminding Draco of why he wore his own shaved short at the sides. Anything to distance himself from the man in front of him. The look on his father's face was politely curious, but his eyes were full of judgement.

'Tell me, Draco. Do they look at you any differently, yet? Do they see you as the sheep you try so hard to be, or do they still see the dragon you are underneath?' Lucius cocked an eyebrow. 'Do they still fear you, child?'  
Draco tried to ignore the words – tried not to let his father get under his skin. But he remembered the looks he'd had a few days earlier, when he'd visited the Auror offices. The mistrust. The gaze that very clearly said, we're watching you and we always will be.

'At least people do see me, Father,' Draco said, forcing his tone to stay mild. He had no interest in giving his father the satisfaction of knowing anything he said had an impact. 'I wonder sometimes if people even know you're still here. I certainly don't hear mention of you when I go about my day.'  
A flicker of anger passed across Lucius' face and Draco marked himself another silent tally in the game they played eternally.  
'Where is my grandson today?' Lucius asked. Draco concentrated on breathing steadily.  
'He is not due to visit until the New Year,' he said evenly. 'His last visit was July. You will see him again for a meal in January.'

'Of course,' Lucius said, eyes not leaving Draco. 'Time passes so differently here. I forget.'  
Draco forced himself not to react. His father didn't forget a damned thing. After all these years of confinement, he was just as sharp as he had ever been. A spider in his lair, with nothing to occupy his time but bitterness and spite. And Scorpius – Scorpius was a particular fascination of his. Draco would be forever thankful to Astoria for the clause she'd had written into the agreement that in the case of Narcissa's passing, Scorpius' mandated visits to the Manor would be reduced to twice annually.

'Of course,' Draco said, ' _C'est sûr que ça doit être difficile d'occuper ton demi neurone sans aucune stimulation._ '  
'Oh, I get sufficient stimulation, child,' Lucius said, a half-smile on his face. 'You need not worry about your dear old papa's mental faculties. I have many things to occupy my day.'

Not for the first time, Draco wondered at comments like this. As far as he knew, his father received no visitors and minimal post – what he did get was screened by the Ministry, and Draco was given a summary every six months via the family lawyer. He shrugged it off, as he always did, as his father doing all that he could to make himself relevant – needed.

'I'm sure, Father,' he said, injecting as much false sincerity into his tone as he could. 'As you're such a busy man, it's probably best that I leave you to it. I have many -'  
'Oh, but Draco,' Lucius interjected with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. 'You must stay and lunch with me. I want to hear all about whatever charity case it is you are chasing these days.'  
Draco forced a smile in return. Damned inheritance. Damned social standing. Damn the fact that he couldn't achieve what he needed to without the Malfoy name behind him.  
'Of course, father,' he said, as he gestured towards the door he'd entered through. 'Nothing could please me more.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _C'est sûr que ça doit être difficile d'occuper ton demi neurone sans aucune stimulation._  
>  It's true that it must be really difficult to occupy your 'last neuron' without any stimulation.
> 
> So, I know a lot of you guessed Ladon was Draco before now, or saw it in people's comments, but if you didn't know, I'd love to know what you're thinking now!
> 
> Everyone else, I hope you enjoyed getting back in Draco's head.
> 
> As always, comments absolutely make me feel amazing. Please do drop me a line <3


	10. Chapter 10

Harry stood in front of the mirror, looking over his reflection with a frown. He felt ridiculous in the tights and puffy shorts, and the embroidered vest itched. He hadn't even attempted to put the neck ruff on. At least the temporary vision charm he'd cast seemed to be holding. He lifted his drink to his mouth and then growled as it bumped against the mask on his face. He rolled his eyes and then pulled it off, throwing it on the bed. Stupid thing. Of course Malfoy's bloody ball would have to be a pretentious dress-up party, to boot.

Ginny had bought the outfit for him. Hers matched. She was the Muggle Queen, Elizabeth - the original one, not the current one - and she looked amazing. He'd caught a glimpse of her as she'd gone into the bathroom to finish getting ready. She'd told him he looked dashing, but he was pretty sure he looked like a right prat. He was supposed to be some Muggle called Sir Robert Raleigh … Walter Raleigh? He couldn't remember. Some Muggle anyway. Harry took a gulp of his drink and rolled his eyes.

Of course the Pureblood Society was encouraging Muggle-themed costumes. He didn't know why it annoyed him so much. It made sense to encourage learning and the celebration of Muggle culture and history. He finished his drink and turned away from the mirror. Ginny would be a while yet. He'd have another drink while he waited. Something told him that would be the only thing that would get him through the night.

He'd had another three by the time she came downstairs, and the sight of her almost took his breath away, stirring feelings he'd thought long-forgotten. She wore a full-length gown, gold in colour and decorated all over with intricate beading and embroidery. A white lace ruff framed her shoulders and ran up behind her neck, drawing attention to her hair, which was twisted into delicate spirals of vibrant red. Her mask was simple; delicate gold wiring framing her eyes and sweeping up into her hair.

'You look beautiful,' he murmured, standing and crossing over to her as she entered the kitchen. He put his hands on her waist and leaned in for a kiss. She returned it, briefly, then pulled away.  
'I've done my face,' she said with a slight roll of her eyes. Harry huffed a laugh. She always hated how putting makeup on meant you had to be careful with things like eating ... and kissing. He slipped his hands up over her bodice, towards where her breasts were almost on display, cushioned in delicate lace.  
'Harry,' she said, pushing his hands away. 'It took me like an hour to get into this thing. I'm not taking it off again.'  
Harry pouted, avoiding her grip and moving his hands up again. 'C'mon,' he said. 'It will only take a minute. You don't even have to take it off.' He waggled his eyebrows in what he hoped was a seductive manner. 

Ginny rolled her eyes and stepped back. 'Not now,' she said sharply. Harry's face fell and he dropped his hands. Her expression softened, 'Maybe tonight, when we get back.'  
He smiled, feeling his good mood come back. Things weren't all bad. Maybe he'd been over thinking what had changed between them. He stepped forward to steal a quick kiss. 'It's a date.'

Ginny looked him up and down. 'You're not wearing the mask?'  
Harry shrugged, dropping his eyes and picking at the puffy pants. 'Didn't fit right,' he muttered.  
'Oh,' Ginny said, looking disappointed. 'I could try to resize it?'  
Harry shook his head. He didn’t want to wear it. He felt stifled by it. The costume was already too much. 'Don’t worry about it. It didn’t cover my scar anyway, so it's not like there would have been much point.'

Ginny nodded, looking at the half-empty bottle of fire-whiskey on the table beside him, but not commenting.  
Instead she moved towards the Floo. 'You ready?'  
Harry sighed and stepped toward her, realising, as the room swayed slightly, that he may have overdone it with the drinks … and that being drunk in a room of the world's most powerful people may not have been the best decision.

\-----

When they stepped out of the Floo, Harry blinked in surprise. He didn't know what he'd imagined - somewhere dark and cold and steeped in evil, maybe. Whatever it was … it wasn't this. They'd entered into a large foyer, which was brightly lit by the warm light of hundreds of white candles. The air smelled of beeswax and trees - evergreen boughs decorated the walls and doors. There were half a dozen other people gathered in the foyer, all dressed in bright colours and opulent fabrics, dripping with jewels. It seemed Malfoy's theme was a hit - if wizards couldn't get modern Muggle clothing right, they didn’t seem to struggle too much with the medieval type.

Ginny took his arm and swished forward. Harry followed a beat later. They approached the large wooden doors on the other side of the chamber, open to a room that was full of the sounds of laughter, music and conversation.  
Harry couldn't help but be impressed as they stepped through - the ballroom was massive, easily as big as the Great Hall in Hogwarts, and far more lavishly decorated than the Hall had ever been. Huge swathes of white silk hung from the roof, slipping down the walls. Evergreen branches tied them all off in a pattern that Harry was sure was supposed to look rustic and simplistic, but was belied by the elaborate costumes of the guests circulating around it.

Tables piled high with food and drink lined the edges of the room, and in the centre, people whirled and danced in a riot of colour and movement.  
Harry's wide-eyed assessment was arrested by a slim figure in an elaborate silver jacket, over a sky blue waistcoat and much more sensible puffy shorts than he had on. The man came closer, familiar eyes fixing Harry from behind a black mask which peaked into a hint of horns.

'It's a masquerade ball, Potter. The whole damned point is that you wear a mask.'  
Harry shrugged, feeling the whisky burn through him, making riling Malfoy an attractive proposition.  
'It’s Solstice, isn't it? Shortest night? Death and rebirth. I died and I was reborn,' he said with a slightly bitter smirk, throwing his arms wide. 'Look, I've come as Harry Potter.'  
Malfoy rolled his eyes and then pulled out his wand, pointing it at Harry. Harry tensed instinctively and Malfoy's mouth tightened slightly, but he cast anyway. 

Harry felt the tingle of Malfoy's magic over his skin, sparking lightly, then settling like a strangely familiar blanket. Then his clothing shimmered and re-shaped. The vest-jacket tightened and lost its sleeves, forming instead into a hardened chest plate. The ridiculous shorts flared out into a swathe of cool fabric, edged with leather straps. The tights melted away and sturdy sandals encased his calves. He felt a weight hang from his shoulder and turned his head slightly to see a heavy red velvet cape flowing down his back.  
Malfoy tilted his head in appraisal, a tiny, pleased-looking smile creeping across his face, and then twitched his wand one more time. A cool metal mask, which felt like a second skin, settled across Harry's eyes and flowed down one cheek - covering his scar.

Malfoy's eyes met Harry's just as a thin leather cord wrapped around his neck. Harry started at the sensation and then relaxed, glancing down at himself with a wry smile.  
'And who am I now?' he queried, already feeling much more comfortable. Malfoy's gaze jerked up from his neck and he met Harry's eyes again. He seemed to take a moment to gather himself, then he smirked, twirling his hand and bending slightly in a mocking half-bow.  
'Alexander the Great, Undefeated in Battle. Immortalised as a classic hero and worshipped throughout the ages.' He straightened fully, looking back at Harry with a cocked eyebrow. 'I thought you might relate.'  
Harry snorted, surprised at Malfoy's tone. His words didn't have any sting to them. In fact they almost felt … teasing.

'Apologies, Ginerva,' Malfoy said, turning to Ginny with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. 'I just couldn't stand to see his moody face all night. You look stunning. Elizabeth I?'  
'Yes,' Ginny said, a hint of coolness in her tone. She took Harry's arm again. 'Thank you for inviting us.'  
Malfoy's eyes widened fractionally and his gaze flicked to Harry. Harry willed him not to say anything. He hadn't told Ginny about the entry fee. Malfoy looked back at Ginny a moment later, smiling, with a smooth, 'Of course. It's a pleasure to have you. You'll know many of the other guests, of course. I see the French Head of Magical Sports and Games over by the orchestra. You'd be acquainted?'  
Ginny looked over with a smile and nodded. 'Coming, Harry?' she asked as she took a step into the room.

Harry nodded, disengaging his arm. 'In a moment. I'll get a drink and join you.'  
Ginny frowned slightly, but didn't say anything as she turned away. Harry turned his attention back to Malfoy.  
'You look …' _fit_ Harry's mind provided. He pushed the unwelcome thought away. Damned drink. 'Well-costumed. Who are you supposed to be, anyway?'  
' _Je suis le Comte de Saint Germain._ '

At Harry's blank look, Malfoy rolled his eyes slightly. 'He was a French nobleman, rumored to be a wizard, actually an alchemist. He was best known for being a charitable philanthropist.'  
Harry snorted, 'You're saying you found the dead Muggle equivalent of you and dressed as him?'  
Malfoy shrugged one elegant shoulder. 'Why mess with a good thing?'  
His smile had that same hint of teasing warmth and Harry found himself confused, and strangely drawn to it. This wasn't - he didn't _joke_ with Malfoy.  
'Excuse me,' he said, abruptly, turning away - heading for the nearest table of drinks.

He spent the next two hours feeling like he was back in fourth year and attending the Yule Ball. He alternated between watching Ginny, watching Malfoy, and moving locations often enough that he could greet people, but no one settled in to chat with him. It seemed like Ginny knew half the people present, and he was reminded again at how much travel she did, and how much time the team spent with sponsors and at after-parties. It made him feel strangely bereft to see her in her element. He thought about joining her, but the idea of being introduced to an endless parade of faces he was never going to see again just exhausted him. And anyway, she'd come and get him if she wanted him. Instead he retrieved another glass of wine and took another trip around the room.

Malfoy was everywhere he looked. His silver jacket and pale hair shone in the light of the floating candles. He was the focus of every group he joined. From across the room, Harry could see him smiling, laughing. He looked as though he was saying just the right words in every instance. Harry envied him that. He never knew what to say at things like this - talking to people he didn't know had always been awkward. He could do it for work - that was easy - but in his personal life? In the times when the Ministry trotted him out as the 'Chosen Entertainment' for the night? No, then it was much harder.

Malfoy was dancing now, and Harry remembered watching him dance at the Yule Ball, all those years ago. He'd hated Malfoy then, for how easy he made it look. For how seamlessly he fit in, with his Pureblood manners and what was clearly years of familiarity with the dances. Now … now he watched Malfoy and wasn’t sure what he thought. Malfoy was a better dancer now than he had been then. He'd grown into his gangly limbs, filled out into a lean, well-built man. _The exact type of man you catch yourself looking at, when you forget you're not supposed to_ , his traitorous mind supplied. Malfoy was the very picture of elegance and confidence as he whirled and stepped, never missing a beat. He made an arresting sight, and, looking around, Harry realised he wasn't the only one watching.

He dropped his eyes, self-conscious, and brought one hand up to rub lightly at the thin band of leather tied around his throat. He liked the sensation … it reminded him of wearing the collar … of how good it felt to be cut off from everything, not have any expectations on him. He felt a voice whisper in the back of his mind. _You like how it feels to be owned_.

'The life of the party, I see, Potter.'  
Harry jerked his head up at the drawling voice, to see Malfoy standing over him, a faint flush on his pale cheeks.  
Malfoy handed him a drink and Harry was only slightly surprised to see that of all the drinks on offer, it was the elf-made wine he'd been drinking since he arrived. Malfoy slid into a seat beside him.  
'I thought the point of your attendance tonight was so that you could speak to the right people.' Malfoy said, looking out over the crowd as he took a sip from his own glass.  
'Not in the mood,' Harry said.

'Hmm,' Malfoy said, noncommittally. Harry felt annoyance stir at that. He'd expected Malfoy to - to tell him off or something. The lack of response irked him. He didn’t know why.  
'How do you even tell them apart anyway?' he burst out. 'If the whole point of the Ball is for people to cut deals and impress each other - how does having everyone in masks help with that?'  
Malfoy looked over at him with a smile. 'You think they,' he gestured lazily at the crowded room, 'don't know who is who? They're all wearing something that gives away their name, or country or profession. I could tell you the identity and backstory of just about every guest here. It's a small world in some ways.'  
Harry scoffed in disbelief and Malfoy turned to him, eyes flashing as he grinned with an edge of challenge.

'You don't believe me? Fine. Point someone out and I'll tell you who they are and why they're here. I get it wrong and I'll leave you to your brooding.'  
Harry raised his chin at the dare, certain he could trip Malfoy up.  
'I don't brood. But fine. Her, over there, in the pink, with the feathered mask, by the windows.'  
Malfoy glanced across the room, then turned to Harry. 'Jenna Rees. She's American. On the board of Ilvermorny. She's here because the Muggle-born education reforms we're suggesting are of great interest to them, and she wants to gather support for a motion back home. She paid ten thousand. Next.'

Harry narrowed his eyes, impressed, despite himself. 'Okay. Him, in the corner. The one with the moustache who looks like he has a bear on his face.'  
Malfoy's look was just as fleeting. 'Anton Ivashin. Russian. He's a big import/export dealer. Mainly magical creatures. Sometimes less than legal. The others he's talking to are business contacts here in Britain as well as in Spain and Italy. He paid sixty thousand to attend. See the unicorn hair wrapped around his wrist? No? You probably can't from this distance.'  
Harry looked around the room, biting his lip, then he spotted a guest he'd been curious about, 'What about her,' he said, nodding at a woman in a red and gold shimmering dress. Her mask pointed at the nose and curved in flaring spikes behind her head.

To his surprise, Malfoy curled his lip.  
'Emmaline Fontaine. New money. She paid Phoenix-level entry to be here, one hundred thousand. Unlike some people, who know how to demonstrate their power subtly, Emma is a brick in the face. That dress - it's made with phoenix feathers. She literally dressed herself as a damned phoenix.' Malfoy huffed in disgust and Harry couldn't help smiling at the response. This came from a man who was paying over a million Galleons to throw a party.

He was about to say so, when Malfoy turned back to him, eyes serious from behind the mask.  
'What are you doing here, Potter?'  
Harry looked at him, confused. 'You told me to come.'  
Malfoy shook his head dismissively. 'That's what I mean. You're clearly not enjoying yourself. You clearly have no interest in talking to any of these people. Why are you here?'  
Harry frowned, feeling anger stir through him. He didn't know why Malfoy was having a go at him. They'd been chatting perfectly happily a moment ago. 'You told me to come, you prat.'  
'That's the problem, isn't it,' Malfoy said, and Harry's frown deepened. 'Someone tells you to do something and you do it. Someone tells you that you should _be_ something, so you are. I've been watching you. You're miserable. Your wife's spent the entire night talking to other men and you've spent the entire night drinking and offending people by walking off on them.'

Harry banged his drink on the table, not caring that it splashed over his clenched knuckles. Malfoy's words cut through the pleasant buzz he'd been wrapped in. They reminded him of how little enjoyment he'd been having before Malfoy sat down. And who was he to judge anyway. Self-righteous prat.  
'Fuck you,' Harry said. 'You don't know anything about me.'

Malfoy laughed, but there was no humour in it. 'I know the 'perfect life' that the _Prophet_ talks about can't be the real story. Childhood sweetheart. Dashing Auror. Ministry Darling. Is that why you did it all - to give the rest of the wizarding world a fairy tale? The happy ending that everyone wanted after the war - if Harry Potter could have it, so could they? Is that what it was?'  
Harry shook his head, feeling his anger rise higher. That wasn't it at all. He'd made the choices he had - let his life play out the way it had - because they had been the right things to do.  
'I'm warning you, Malfoy,' he said, gritting his teeth. 'My life is none of your business. And you're hardly one to judge, are you?'

But Malfoy seemed ignore his words, continuing to speak. 'The Boy-Who-Lived would continue to be the boy who lived for everyone else. You've always been a bit like that, haven't you, Potter? Ever since the beginning.'  
Harry clenched his hands into fists, Malfoy's words cutting into him. Cutting through him.  
He pushed into a standing position. He didn't have to stay here - to listen to this. He'd known coming was a mistake. Nothing Malfoy ever did would come without a cruel edge to it.

Malfoy didn't rise. Instead he took a sip of his drink, cocking his head to one side and considering Harry earnestly.  
'What do _you_ want, Potter? What's something you want that has nothing to do with anyone else?'

Unbidden, Harry's thoughts darted to Ladon, and the Club, but he pushed them away. He'd never been a skilled Occlumens, and who knew who else was in the room, searching for stray pieces of information. That could have been Malfoy's intention. To trip him up - to get him drunk and pick his mind for information to use against him.  
He glared at Malfoy, slightly unsteady as he turned, scanning the crowd for Ginny. She was whirling across the floor in the arms of a well-dressed wizard with a sunburst mask. Harry had a faint recollection of seeing them together earlier. Either way, she was busy and she clearly wasn't interested in what he was doing for the night. He was sure she would have a much better time without him present anyway.

He turned back to Malfoy, who was still considering him coolly.  
'You're right,' he said, surprising myself. 'I _am_ miserable, and I don't know why I came. It was clearly a mistake. I won't make the same one again.'  
Malfoy opened his mouth but Harry pulled the mask off his face and threw it onto the table. Then he turned away, pushing through the crowd. He left the main ballroom and moved past the room with the Floo. He needed to get outside. He needed fresh air. 

Two doors later saw him exiting a small sitting room. The patio led to the lawns outside. Harry paused in the cool night air, taking a deep breath and trying to relax. Then he performed a sobering charm on himself. It flooded over him like a bucket of icy water and he shuddered at the sensation. He hated using them, and if Apparating wasn't the quickest way to get to where he wanted to go, he wouldn't have bothered. But he needed to get away from here - away from Malfoy and his accusations. And there was only once place he could think of that he wanted to be right now.

He looked down at his clothes and grimaced. He was pants at clothing transfiguration, but this getup wasn't even close to something he could wear in Muggle society. He closed his eyes, concentrating on jeans and a warm jumper. When he opened them again, he was relieved to see he wasn't naked. His clothes were ill-fitting and lumpy looking, but they would do.

He stalked down the drive, eager to get outside the wards so he could leave.

\-------

He Apparated to the alley around the corner from Release and strode up to the door, his mood still simmering. He needed to get out of his head.  
Inside, Dahlia greeted him as always. 'Hello, pet. Looking a bit worse for wear tonight?'  
Harry ignored her raised eyebrows. 'Where's Ladon?'  
Dahlia's blood-red lips parted in a smile. 'Oh, pet, I think you're a bit mixed up about how this all works. You're at his disposal, not the other way around. And he's otherwise occupied for tonight.'  
Harry's mind darted to what Ladon could be doing - and who with - and he felt a twist of something hot and sharp in his chest. Somehow he hadn't thought of Ladon doing scenes with others. Hadn't imagined it would mean anything to him that he was. 

'Right,' he said, suddenly feeling wrong-footed and out of place. 'Of course. I'll - I'll ask for an appointment next time.'  
'You do that, pet,' Dahlia said with a sharp-toothed grin. 'He's booked up for the next month, but you do that.'

\-----

Harry got back to Grimmauld Place, still feeling on edge. The outlet he'd hoped to find by visiting Ladon was out of his reach. Instead Malfoy's words echoed through his head. _What do_ you _want, Potter? What's something you want that has nothing to do with anyone else?_  
He didn't know what he wanted. Fucking Malfoy. What right did he have to shit all over Harry's life? It wasn't like he'd lived the perfect life, was it?

Ginny still wasn’t home and he didn’t feel like going to bed, so he walked through the house. He paused in front of Sirius' room, one hand half-raised. It was times like this he wished Sirius were still here - or Lupin, or his parents … someone he could go to for advice … someone who wasn't his wife's parents. He couldn't talk to Molly and Arthur about Ginny - did he want to talk about Ginny? Tonight had been like any other night. Present but not together. With a sigh, Harry wondered when he'd stopped being in love with his wife. Wondered when it had all gone so wrong. They'd been happy. For so many years, they'd been happy, hadn't they?

He sighed again and pushed the door open, stepping inside and moving over to the bed, flopping down and staring up at the ceiling. He wondered what his godfather would have done with his life, if he hadn't been sent to Azkaban. The thought was a depressing one and he glanced around the room, eyes catching on some of the pictures he'd had framed and hung in the room, when they'd tidied it up. There was his dad and Sirius, arms around each other at his parents' wedding. As he watched, James pulled Sirius in close and tousled his hair. Sirius fought back and the two of them wrestled out of the frame. Harry smiled faintly and let his gaze drift to a picture of Sirius and Lupin sitting on the couch together. It was at a party, by the looks of things. They were talking, sitting close together and then they noticed the camera and Lupin smiled shyly, looking away, while Sirius gave it the finger, with a grin.

Harry shifted his head to look at his favourite picture - Sirius driving down the road on his motorbike, pulling it around hard, right in front of the camera and grinning as though he'd never been happier. He always looked so relaxed - so in his element - in that picture. Harry wondered if he'd ever felt so carefree.  
He watched Sirius drive towards the camera again and again, grinning each time. Harry let out a slow breath and felt his eyes drift closed. Fucking Malfoy. What did he know.

\-------

Harry dreamed he was flying, the guttural throbbing of an engine between his legs, wind rushing through his hair as he soared far above the world. Then the view shifted and he was dancing, whirling fast and sure, strong arms wrapped around him, guiding his every step. He felt light and free. The hands on him pulled him closer, then there was a mouth on his, hot and needy. He surrendered to it. Pulled the body hard against his. They were lying down now and he could feel heat stretched along the length of him, smooth skin, the rasp of stubble against his neck. Stubble? He pulled back, opening his eyes. Icy blue ones met his -

Harry woke with a start, groaning as consciousness came flooding back. He shifted, blinking groggily and looking around the room, disoriented. It took him a moment to realise he was in Sirius' room. And when he did he felt even worse. The sobering charm he'd used the night before left him feeling wrung out and sore, and he'd slept strangely, sprawled out across the unfamiliar bed. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes and then shifted again, suddenly aware of the friction against his hard cock. He'd been dreaming, he remembered … about flying. _And fucking_ , his mind supplied. The sensation of a hard, slim, very masculine body against his re-entered his mind and he couldn't help the grind against the bed with a groan. He wondered what being with a man would be like. He'd always known he was interested but ... aside from the one kiss with Cho, there had only ever been Ginny.

Harry pushed the thoughts away. The dream was nothing. He - it had certainly had nothing to do with the night before, with watching Malfoy dancing. Thinking of the night before reminded him - he'd gone to the club … and Ladon hadn't been there. He frowned, the bitter taste of that fact still present in the light of day.

Harry huffed in frustration at himself and rolled onto his back, the thought of Ladon's absence killing the growing arousal. What did he expect. The man ran a club. He'd been doing _that_ with people long before Harry had arrived, and would continue to do it long into the future, he was sure. He couldn't just expect that because he'd come along Ladon would suddenly only want him. Harry thought about Ladon's arms around him, his voice as he murmured praise and comfort and he felt the bitterness flood through him again. He didn't _want_ him to be doing that with anyone else, he realised. He wanted that part of Ladon to himself. His fingers stole up to the strip of leather, still tied around his neck from the night before. The strip of leather that Draco Malfoy had put there. Harry felt the stir of remembered anger at Malfoy's words. But in the light of day, they seemed less cutting than they had while he'd been deep in his cups.

He toyed with the leather band … maybe Malfoy had a point … did Malfoy have a point? Had he just done what he did with life because everyone had expected him to? He sighed and let his fingers fall from his neck, pushing himself up and out of bed. He needed to shower and eat. It was too early to be having an existential crisis.

The house was quiet still. He padded slowly back upstairs, pushing the door to their room open. The bed was empty. Un-slept in. Ginny hadn’t come home the night before. Harry looked at it a moment longer, not sure exactly when that had become normal either. He headed into the bathroom. 

When he felt more human, he went back downstairs, continuing out through the garden. It had been a long time since he'd opened up the shed in the yard … but he was curious, after his dream. The small building was as cluttered as he remembered it, tools and parts spread all over the workbenches. It had been another room they'd closed after Sirius had gone - another thing that had been too painful to keep open. The ache was duller nowadays. Harry set his mug down on a grease-stained bench and looked at the sheet-covered machine in the middle of the shed. He hadn't touched it since Hagrid had returned it. He'd always kind of hoped Sirius would show him how to ride it … but that dream had sat on the shelf, like so many others.

Determined, suddenly, Harry grasped the corner of the cover and pulled it off, dust billowing in the air with his movement. The Triumph stood there, gleaming dully in the morning light. It was battered and broken in places - still streaked with mud from Hagrid's mad trip to the Burrow, so many years before. Harry stepped closer, running his fingers across the metal. He felt the hum of magic under his hand as something in the bike reached out to him, as though seeking a connection. He took his hand away and the feeling was gone. Harry looked down at the bike, thoughts swirling through his mind. He'd always wanted to fix it up - to be able to ride it … but he'd never had time. Other things had always been more pressing.

He shook his head at himself. He didn't know the first thing about motorbikes, or mechanics, or magical vehicles. He was being ridiculous. He reached out again, and felt that same hum of welcoming magic under his palm. He almost never flew anymore. What would it be like to fly on a bike instead of a broom?

'Harry?' came a muffled voice from inside the house. It sounded like Hermione, through the Floo. 'Are you home?'  
Harry bent quickly, picking up the sheet and throwing it back over the bike before moving out of the shed, drawing the doors shut behind himself and re-locking them. Then he moved back into the house.  
He could hear voices inside, quieter this time.  
'Coming,' Harry called, moving faster. He stepped into the kitchen and stopped in surprise.

Ginny looked over her shoulder at him and half-smiled before she turned back to the kettle.  
'You're back,' he stated, unnecessarily. Then he took in the others. Ron was helping Rose out of the Floo and Hermione was sitting at the kitchen table with Hugo.  
Hermione's smile took on a puzzled edge at his words, and he had a feeling they'd be having a conversation later. He glanced at Ginny again, but she had her back to him.  
'Uncle Harry!' came the twin cries as the kids caught sight of him. Harry smiled and dropped to one knee, holding his arms wide.  
They both rushed to him and he held them tight, then let them go with a smile.

'Sorry to pop in,' Hermione said. 'It's just we haven’t seen you both for a while and well - Ron - we - thought it might be nice to have breakfast together?'  
Harry smiled at her and stood back up. He still felt like shit from the night before. But she was right, it had been too long since he'd spent time with them.  
'Who wants pancakes?' he said, in response, chuckling as Rose and Hugo both jumped up and down in excitement.

'Right,' he said, moving towards Hermione to give her a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug, then Ron for a pat on the shoulder. Ron's eyes met his and Harry could see faint worry in them. He realised with a twinge of guilt that he hadn't seen Ron in weeks … since he'd had his moment at the Burrow … and that Ron had probably been worrying about him. He mustered up a smile, as sincere as he could make it, and after a moment, Ron smiled back.  
'Alright, mate?' he said quietly. Harry nodded, and then turned back to the kids.

'Who's going to help me mix?' he called.  
'We will!' Ginny said brightly, moving to the cupboard and sweeping Hugo up onto her shoulders so he could reach the flour on the top shelf. He squealed in delight and Harry felt a faint echo of sadness, watching them together. He turned away and caught Hermione studying him again. 

They were halfway through breakfast when Harry heard a tapping at the window. He looked up to see an owl hovering there. Ginny looked at him with raised eyebrows and made to get up from the table. He frowned and waved her back into her seat, getting up and taking his plate to the sink. He wasn't expecting mail, and Ginny clearly wasn't either. The creature held its leg out and then sat on the sill, clearly awaiting a reply. Harry unrolled the note and read it, feeling warmth spread through his chest at the words.

_I'm sorry I missed you last night. I'm free tonight, if you are._  
_SL_

Ladon wanted to see him again. Whatever he'd been doing, Ladon had been sorry to have missed him. 

He looked up to see Ginny watching him with a curious expression on her face. He realised abruptly that he was grinning widely and schooled his face into a more normal expression. He glanced down at the note again, then held out his hand, wordlessly Accioing a quill. He scrawled a quick _yes, please_ onto the bottom and then tied it back to the owl's leg. The bird took off immediately and Harry watched it go for a moment, anticipation already building in him about the night to come.

'What was that?' Ginny asked.  
Harry hesitated, guilt rushing through him, though he wasn't sure why. He - it wasn't like that with Ladon. Nothing was happening. Like that. He turned back to her.  
'Uh - work. Good news from a junior Auror I recommended for promotion,' he said quickly. Ginny watched him a moment longer before she nodded and went back to her breakfast with a murmured congratulations. They didn't talk much about work anymore - hers or his. He doubted he could even name all of her teammates and coaching staff. 

After breakfast Ron and Ginny took the kids into the bathroom to wash up.  
Harry looked over at Hermione and she smiled gently at him. 'You seem different lately, Harry. Ron told me about the Burrow, and I've been worried - we both have.'  
'Different, how?' he said, not sure he wanted the answer.  
Hermione considered a moment, before she spoke. 'Things - I worry about you and Ginny. Things seem ... tense. But other times, like when you got that letter this morning. You seem so happy. So at peace. It's - it's been a long time since I've seen you like that.'  
Harry wavered, wanting to talk to her but not sure what to say. He finally decided on the truth - or as close to it as he could get. Keeping things from Ron and Hermione had never felt good.  
'I - Ginny,' he said, lowering his voice. 'I don't know. Things are changing, I think.' He took a deep breath. 'I've been seeing someone. To - to work through a few things.'  
Hermione's face lit up in a broad smile. 'Oh, that's wonderful Harry. I'm so glad. I was hoping for so long that you would. Who are they? Where are they based?'  
Harry felt a tiny twist of guilt that she'd assumed he'd meant a Mind Healer. Ron and Hermione had both used them in the years after the War. Harry hadn't needed one - hadn't wanted someone in his head like that. Voldemort had been enough.

He decided the assumption wasn't too much of a stretch. After all, he had talked about things with Ladon he hadn’t spoken with anyone else about. That was basically what a Mind Healer would have done.  
'His name's Samael Ladon. He's in Muggle London. Mostly ... treats Muggles actually.'  
Hermione looked at him with interest. 'Samael - what an interesting name. Very Biblical.'  
Harry looked at her, confusion in his face. 

She shrugged slightly. 'Samael was one of the fallen archangels, in Muggle lore. He was supposedly the serpent that tempted Eve in the garden of Eden. He's historically seen as both good and evil, someone who embodies seduction and destruction.' She shrugged and Harry was impressed, as always, by the depth of her knowledge.  
'Just an interesting name to call a child, I suppose. Talking to him is helping you?'

Harry paused again, thinking back to the times he'd seen Ladon. He remembered tight bonds, sharp pain, being driven right to the edge. And then nothing. Floating numbness and peace. He pushed away the thought of what had come after, lying in Ladon's arms as the man had whispered to him how good he'd been, how perfect, how strong.  
He could feel his face reddening and hoped she'd put it down to embarrassment over talking about the 'therapy' he was having.  
'Yeah,' he murmured. 'He's helping a lot.'

\-----

He went to the club early that night. Ginny had left for a training session after lunch and there was no reason for him not to. When he arrived, Dahlia looked at him, expression shrewdly appraising.  
'Sam doesn't rearrange his plans for anyone. I don't know what you've got going on in there, pet,' she said, gesturing up and down his body. 'But whatever it is … if you're ever looking to play around, I wouldn't mind a taste.'

Harry eyed her sideways and shook his head. 'Thanks, but I'm fine.'  
She shrugged, 'Your loss,' and directed him into the public area with a knowing smile. He ignored her.  
He spotted Ladon by the bar immediately. He seemed to sense the moment Harry walked into the room. His gaze shifted from watching the main stage to watching Harry as he moved around the occupied couches and stools.

When he reached the bar, he wasn't sure what to do. He hadn't really been around Ladon in a group of people since they'd started doing … this. He didn't know if there were ways he was supposed to behave, things he was supposed to say. He could see others around them looking at the two of them - sidelong glances that were curious more than anything else. It made him nervous. He wanted a sign, something to show him what to do.

He glanced across at Ladon again. He was leaning against the bar, graceful, coiled power wrapped in black jeans. He wore a deep green waistcoat over his bare chest. Harry let his eyes slip over Ladon's lightly tanned shoulders and down his arms. He was lean, the muscles wiry and defined. He had black leather bands wrapped around his forearms, from wrist to elbow. Harry remembered seeing them in Ladon's rope scene. He wondered if that was what he had planned for them tonight. The thought sent a thrill through him.

When he looked back up, Ladon was watching him, amusement lingering around his mouth. He crooked his finger, beckoning. Harry stepped closer and Ladon leaned in to meet him. He pitched his voice low.  
'I thought we might do something different, tonight,' he murmured, and Harry couldn't help the faint shiver that crossed his skin at the sound of the husky voice in his ear.  
'There's something very nice on the main stage soon,' Ladon continued. 'I want to watch it with you. You will wear your collar and you will follow me to our seat. Everyone will see you. Everyone will know who you are with.'  
Harry hissed in a breath at the thought of being on display like that. Marked in this club as Ladon's. Normally the idea of being paraded - stared at - was the last thing he wanted. But this, in this club full of Muggles, he wouldn't be Harry Potter, Golden Boy, who everyone expected something from. No, he would just be Harry. Ladon's. To do with as he would. The idea of being seen that way excited him. The idea of showing everyone Ladon had chosen _him_ for the night set something purring deep in his chest. 

Ladon leaned back, looking him directly in the eye. 'Would you like to play, Harry?'  
Harry glanced around again, seeing the same eyes on him, not judging, just interested. He shivered again, feeling heat pool in his chest.  
'Yes, sir,' he whispered.  
Ladon smiled broadly. 'Good boy.'  
Harry felt the warmth spread lower and all of a sudden he remembered the dream from the night before - he remembered having Ladon's body hard up against his. Remembered the hard mouth on his. He flushed, dropping his eyes.

Ladon reached out, putting a finger under his chin and tilting it back up.  
'What is it, love?'  
Harry's mind stuttered, fixed on the word that had just left Ladon's mouth. He felt an ache in his chest. No one ever called him that, just let it tumble easily from their lips. He wanted to hear it again.  
He shook his head in response to the question. He knew what Ladon had said in their last session together; he didn't interact sexually with the people he did scenes with. Harry's dream about kissing him was just an overactive imagination on top of an unfulfilled sex drive. That was all. He couldn't do anything that would make Ladon feel uncomfortable with him, or not want to see him again. The thought of this stopping - of not seeing what was next, terrified him ... and he wanted to hear that word again.

Ladon's eyes were still on him, but he seemed to be happy not to push this issue. He pointed to a bag at the end of the bar.  
'You can leave your things there.'  
Harry nodded and moved across, reaching into the bag and pulling out the collar. He ran his fingers over it, anticipation tingling through him, and then placed it on the bar.  
He reached for the hem of his shirt, pausing one last instant before pulling it up and over his head. He was about to be shirtless in front of strangers. He was about to be shirtless and _collared_ in front of strangers. The thought didn't scare him the way he'd thought it might, instead he just felt the earlier stirrings of desire lick higher. He felt himself harden slightly and closed his eyes, breathing in slowly. He folded his shirt neatly and then toed his boots off and left his socks inside them.

He paused at his trousers, and then decided to leave them on. He didn’t know if he was ready to be mostly naked and clearly aroused in front of strangers. He slipped his glasses back on and picked up the collar, padding barefooted back over to Ladon and holding it out to him.  
'Well done, Harry,' Ladon murmured, and Harry glanced up to see Ladon's eyes raking over his chest, lingering on the welts and bruises that still flowered across his torso. The look in Ladon's eyes was heated - pleased - and Harry felt himself harden further in response. He tried to will his reaction away. Ladon didn't want that from him.

Then Ladon reached out and tugged lightly at the leather band Harry still had tied around his neck.  
'What's this?' he asked, his voice thick and his eyes fixed on Harry's neck.  
Harry flushed, suddenly realising how it must look - to be wearing something else in place of the collar Ladon was about to give him - something he'd been given by some _one_ else.

'Sorry,' he blurted out, reaching up to remove it. Ladon pushed his hands away and raised an eyebrow, clearly wanting an explanation.  
'I - it just feels good, there. Comfortable. Like the collar. I'm sorry,' he said again. 'I forgot I had it on. I'll get rid of it.'  
Ladon shook his head sharply, eyes back on the leather band, and then he reached out to run a finger along it, grazing Harry's skin lightly as he did so. Harry shivered under the touch.  
'Leave it,' Ladon said, voice husky. 'It suits you. And it suits me to have you thinking of this while you're away.'

At that he lifted the collar, buckling it around Harry's neck. Harry's knees almost sagged at the sensation of being removed from his magic, being marked as Ladon's, clearly and publicly. He closed his eyes and savoured the feeling. When he opened them, Ladon was looking at him with clear approval.  
'Come, Harry,' he said. 'This way.'  
Harry followed him obediently, watching the shift of muscles in his shoulders, the motion of his arse in the tight denim jeans. He didn't know if it was okay to watch, but he couldn't stop himself from doing so. He felt like he was travelling headlong towards a change. He didn't know what the change was, but he wanted it.

When they reached an ornate chair in the centre of the room, a few rows back from the stage, Ladon paused.  
'I will sit here.' He gestured at the chair. 'You will sit beside me.' He gestured at the low stool placed beside it. 'We will watch, and you will tell me what you're thinking as the scene unfolds.' He paused, clearly waiting for a response and Harry licked his lips.  
'Yes, sir.'

He sank down onto the stool. It was low enough that his shins rested on the ground, so that he was almost kneeling, but with support from the stool to make it comfortable. He had a clear view of the stage through the other couches around him and he fixed his gaze on it in anticipation, wondering what would be performed. From the corner of his eye, he could see other couples, or groups. Some, similarly collared and kneeling, like him. Others performing the function of footstools for those they were with. Some sat, twined around each other, wrapped in leathers or costumes. He tried not to let his eyes linger, tried not to notice how others watched them in turn, in the dim light from above.

He started slightly as Ladon's hand dropped to his shoulder, a warm, steady presence. He could feel the heat of it on his bare skin and he closed his eyes as Ladon stroked a thumb up his neck, above his collar. He wanted to lean into the sensation, his focus narrowing to that small touch of his skin. It was soothing, but at the same time was creating a sense of tension in him. He wondered if Ladon would touch him anywhere else - realised he wanted him to.

Harry was jolted out of his thoughts by a slight squeeze on his neck and he opened his eyes to see that two people had stepped onto the stage. They were illuminated by a spotlight. Mirrors hung from the ceiling above, angled in so he could see them from all sides.  
One was tall and slim, blonde hair shining under the light. He was wrapped in a cloak that covered him from neck to ankle. For a moment, Harry thought of Malfoy the night before, shining brightly from across the room. He smiled wryly at the idea that prim and proper pureblood Draco Malfoy would be into anything like this, let alone at a Muggle club. 

The second man was dark-skinned, well built and carrying a box, which he placed in the centre of the room. He unfolded a stand from the bottom of it and opened the box.

Ladon leaned across, his grip shifting from Harry's shoulder to the side of his jaw, as he urged him closer to murmur in his ear. 'The man who's just pulled out a paintbrush is Jonathan. He's an incredible artist. His canvas for tonight is Matthias.'  
Harry looked back at the stage, eyes wide, and he gasped softly when Matthias dropped his cloak to the ground, stepping out of it. He was completely naked, lean and well-built, his pale skin unmarked and smooth.  
He stood, facing Harry's direction, and then closed his eyes, becoming still.

Jonathan reached out, trailing a finger down Matthias' chest, before smoothing a palm across his hip, adjusting his stance slightly. Then he reached up, pushing Matthias' shoulders back gently, before tilting his head to the side slightly. He leaned in to say something in Matthias' ear, but it was too low for Harry to catch. He saw Matthias' breath catch at it, though. 

Jonathan stepped back and turned to the box he had set out beside them.  
He busied himself for a moment, and then turned back to Matthias and began painting in long, sure strokes. His brush left thick, black lines curving across Matthias' chest, swirling in intricate patterns, shapes Harry could just make sense of.

Harry watched as the brush moved, mesmerised just as much by the images that were beginning to unfold, as by the stillness of Matthias' body. His mouth was open slightly and Harry could see the unevenness of his breath as his chest moved under the brush. He was clearly enjoying being on display in front of the crowd. Harry raked his eyes over Matthias', not sure when he'd ever had the chance to just watch someone like this. To indulge in examining every part of a man's naked body. 

Jonathan moved around him, bringing the spiralling outlines onto his shoulders and back. Harry looked up into the mirrors, watching as the brush dipped lower, curving around Matthias' arse cheek and then slipping up between them in a broad stroke. Matthias' hips jerked slightly and he let out a low moan, before becoming still again.  
He felt Ladon's fingers tighten momentarily on his neck again, pulling lightly on the collar, and Harry's breath hitched. He wondered if Ladon was as affected by what he was seeing as Harry was. The thought excited him.

He felt his heart began to beat faster as he watched the painting continue, Jonathan moving to his knees now, to paint around Matthias' legs and up over his groin. Arousal spiked through Harry's chest as he dropped his eyes to see Matthias was hard, his cock stirring under the attention. Ladon's hand was hot on his skin, nails scratching lightly. The feeling of heat in his chest dropped lower and Harry felt pleasure begin to pool in his belly at Ladon's touch. He felt himself begin to harden again as well. Harry darted a glance sideways to see Ladon's full attention was on the scene being played out before them.

Ladon seemed to sense Harry's eyes on him. He looked down and then leaned in, hand urging Harry closer again.  
'Do you like it, Harry?' Ladon murmured in his ear, voice low and gravelly.  
Harry closed his eyes and his breath hitched at the sounds, the words, Ladon's nearness. He smelled the faintest hint of lemon on Ladon's skin. His cock jerked with interest. Somehow this was becoming just as intense as the scenes they'd done together, and Ladon was barely touching him - certainly not hurting him.  
He nodded. Ladon's grip tightened on his skin and Harry remembered to speak.  
'Yes, sir,' he whispered. 'I like it.'  
'Good,' Ladon said, and he sat back upright. Harry had to stop himself from protesting the loss of closeness.

He opened his eyes and returned his gaze to the stage. Jonathan was filling his outlines with colour now - vibrant splashes of colour. He was painting flowers of all shapes and sizes, turning Matthias into a piece of art. Harry's eyes dropped, unbidden. Matthias looked painfully hard now, his cock bobbing with his uneven breaths and his almost movements in response to the strokes of the brush over his skin. Harry couldn't take his eyes away from this clear sign of arousal. Jonathan showed no signs of heeding it. If anything, his brush strokes became slower - almost caressing Matthias' skin.

Ladon slipped his hand into Harry's hair, fingers curling and teasing through it in time with the brush strokes. Harry breathed in raggedly. He was fully hard now. He focussed on keeping still - as still as Matthias. He didn’t want Ladon to stop touching him.  
Then Ladon's fingers twisted in his hair, pulling his head back sharply. Harry couldn't contain the moan of pleasure as the pain spiked through him.  
Ladon leaned in again and his breath was hot in Harry's ear.  
'What are you thinking, love? What do you think, as you watch them?'  
Harry's cock jerked hard at the endearment from Ladon's lips and he closed his eyes, breathing raggedly.

'I - it's beautiful,' he gasped. Ladon's fist tightened in Harry's hair and he groaned again, unable to help himself.  
'I want specifics, Harry,' Ladon demanded, voice low and hot.  
Harry forced himself to think, forced his thoughts in order.  
'I - I like watching it,' he began, voice rough, words coming faster as he let himself just speak - let himself give Ladon what he wanted. 'I like seeing how still Matthias has to be - how - how much he wants it. But he can't have it. He's not getting touched. I -' Harry shuddered a deep breath, closing his eyes tighter. 'I want that. To - to be teased like that.'

He heard a choked-off groan from Ladon and the hand in his hair loosened. Harry turned his head, gasping as his eyes met Ladon's and he read the want burning in them. He didn't think he'd ever had anyone look at him the way Ladon was right now - like he was the only one in the room. Like he wanted to devour him. The idea of being wanted that much sent his own need spiralling higher. It blazed through him. He didn't think he'd ever felt anything as strong as this. 

Harry dropped his gaze to Ladon's mouth, unable to help himself. Ladon was completely still, his fingers still tangled in Harry's hair, their faces inches apart. Harry felt as though he was teetering on an abyss from which there was no turning back. He felt weeks worth - _years_ worth - of turmoil, unhappiness … that empty, miserable feeling of _not enough_ build up, twining with his desire and fanning it hotter. He wanted this. He _needed_ this.

He stopped thinking, pushed forward instead, reaching out with one hand to grip the back of Ladon's neck, pulling him down until their mouths crashed together. There was an instant in which Ladon stiffened - didn't respond - and Harry thought he'd made the worst mistake of his life, but then Ladon growled and opened his mouth to Harry. Harry groaned at the sensation of Ladon's hot tongue against his, the sharpness as Ladon bit at his lips, the hardness of his mouth as he demanded what he wanted from the kiss. Harry moaned and kissed back desperately, messily, channelling all of his want - all of his frustration - into the touch of their bodies.

Ladon's grip tightened in Harry's hair again and his other hand moved to Harry's arm, pulling him up and around so they were facing each other, the kiss not broken by the movement. Ladon's mouth was hot and his tongue twined with Harry's, urgent and filthy.

Then Ladon broke off, kissing his way across Harry's jaw, tilting his head up to scrape teeth along his neck.  
'Harry,' he groaned between kisses. 'Fuck. Harry. Wanted you.' He returned his attention to Harry's mouth, teasing his swollen lips with his teeth. 'Wanted this. So long.'

The words filtered through the haze of Harry's need and reality came crashing back down around him. What was he doing? He couldn't kiss someone - he couldn't be with someone else. He was married - it was fucked up and not working, but he wasn't a cheater. He wouldn't be. He pushed backwards, out of Ladon's grip and to his feet, panting roughly as he looked at the man in the chair, face flushed, dark hair tousled, eyes full of need.

'Harry,' Ladon began, 'wait.'  
Harry shook his head, backing away, panic rising through the haze of his desire. 'I can't,' he said, voice pleading. He wanted to - gods but he wanted to, with a ferocity that scared him. And Ladon - Ladon had kissed him back. Wanted him back. 'I can't,' he repeated, stronger this time. More definite. This was wrong.  
He turned away from Ladon, turned away from the scene still playing out on the stage and ran back out to the entrance foyer. 

Dahlia looked up at him with an amused smirk that faded as she took in his appearance - his rising panic. Harry closed his eyes a moment, focussing on home and pulling the Apparition around himself. Nothing happened and he cursed, fingers scrabbling at the collar on his neck. He pulled the buckle loose and withdrew it from his neck, welcoming the rush of his magic at the same time as he mourned the loss of the security the leather band offered him.

As he let it drop to the floor, the doors to the public room burst open again. Harry turned on the spot. The last thing he saw before the world blurred away was Ladon's eyes - grey and full of pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @theboywiththeskulltattoo, thank you for your historical knowledge, so much better than mine. 
> 
> Ha! Slow burn is less slow!! Happy New Year everyone. 
> 
> Please scream at me. I love it 😉


	11. Chapter 11

Harry landed on the front step of Grimmauld Place and stood, panting, heat still rocking through him, mixed with guilt and confusion. He looked at his front door and panicked. Was Ginny home? He couldn't remember where she was. He'd kissed someone else. Fuck. He couldn't see Ginny right now. Harry closed his eyes and fixed on the first destination that came to mind, then he whirled into the night with a crack. 

He stood at the Apparition point around the corner from Ron and Hermione's cottage for a long moment, struggling to get himself under control. He wiped his hand over his mouth, the sensation of Ladon's lips against his, tongue twining with his, still strong. He closed his eyes for a moment, savouring it, remembering the passion in it. He didn't think he'd _ever_ been kissed like that before. Then he forced himself to open his eyes and think about something else. What he'd done was _wrong_. He'd cheated - Ginny was his wife.

But it was just a kiss, wasn't it? Was a kiss cheating? He'd stopped before anything more happened. _But you didn't want to stop_ , his traitorous mind whispered. 

He rubbed his hand over his face with a low groan. He'd fucked up. He'd fucked up so bad. He felt bare skin against his arm and glanced down, realising with belated surprise that he was shirtless and barefoot. He'd left everything at the Club … including his wand. For a moment he considered going back to get it, but the thought of facing Ladon again … the thought of having to talk about what had happened … or something else happening. He shook his head, sharply, to drive the thought away. He glanced around himself, wondering if there was something he could transfigure to cover himself, but the street was quiet and remarkably clean. He looked towards Ron and Hermione's house again. He didn't need the wand, and they'd seen him in a worse state than missing a shirt. 

Harry glanced down at himself and his eye caught on a bruise, highlighted by the street lamp. He frowned. The marks Ladon had left on him with the agiel were one thing he didn't want to explain. He ran his hands over his body, murmuring healing charms, and he felt a faint pang of disappointment as he watched the bruises and welts fade from his skin. He wondered if he would have a chance to get more. Then he felt the guilt hit him again, dousing his arousal. He'd cheated on Ginny. He shouldn't be standing here, outside her brother's house, wondering if the man he'd done it with would want to mark him again.

For a moment he considered turning away - going somewhere else. Anywhere else. But then he remembered the look in Hermione's eyes at breakfast that morning - the patience and the understanding. The worry on Ron's face. They had always been there for him. Always.  
He took a deep breath and walked forward, around the corner and up the path to their door. He knocked softly and it was a moment before he heard footsteps and then it opened. Hermione took in his appearance with a wide, concerned glance.

'Harry, what's happened? Are you okay? What's wrong? Do you need me to call -'  
Harry held up both hands to halt the stream of words. 'Hermione. It's fine. I'm fine … well, not fine, but physically I'm okay. I promise. Can I come in?'  
Hermione stepped back immediately and Harry saw that she was in soft grey pyjama pants and a t-shirt that looked like one of Ron's old Chudley Cannons ones. He gave a belated thought to the time. He hadn't been at the club that long, had he? It couldn't be much past ten?

As soon as he was in the door, Hermione reached out to put her hand on his arm. 'Are you okay, Harry? What's happened?'  
Harry just shook his head, the words tangled up inside him, not sure what he wanted to say now that he was here.  
'Can I have a shirt please? Where's Ron?'  
Hermione nodded, moving into the lounge room and picking one of Ron's t-shirts off a pile of folded laundry. 'He's upstairs, settling Hugo.' She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but restrained herself.  
'Sit. Do you want a cup of tea?'  
Harry nodded, pulling the shirt over his head, grateful for the reprieve. He sank down into an armchair - the one closest to the fire, which he usually raced Ron for. He pulled his legs up and wrapped an arm around them. Hermione looked at him once more, her eyes full of questions, before she disappeared into the kitchen.

Harry sighed and rubbed his fingers over the embroidered rose pattern of the chair. He looked up a moment later as Ron came padding down the stairs, stopping in surprise when he saw Harry. He looked ready for bed too, in flannel pyjamas and a sleeveless top. Harry felt his guilt increase when a smile crossed Ron's face.  
'Harry, wasn't expecting you.' Then the smile slipped. 'Everything okay, mate?'  
Harry forced a smile in return, and Ron's frown deepened to see it. 'What's happened? Is it Ginny? Work? What's wrong?'

Harry nodded, then shook his head, not sure where to start. 'I didn't know where else to go,' he said, looking back down at the pattern he was scraping his fingernail over.  
'How bad is it?' Ron said.  
Harry glanced at him, and then away. 'Bad.'  
Hermione came back into the room, levitating three cups and a packet of biscuits in front of her. They were the assorted cream ones that Harry loved - the ones his Aunt had never let him touch.  
She sat down on the couch, pulling Ron down beside her, directing the cups to each of them. Harry took his automatically, wrapping his hands around it and looking into the fire. 

'What's happened, Harry?' Hermione asked again.  
Harry stared into the fire, watching the flickering flames. He glanced across at Ron, wondering if everything was about to change. Then he looked down at the cup in his hands.  
'I've messed up,' he mumbled. 'I've done something stupid.' He glanced sideways again to see Hermione looking at his borrowed shirt, then back at his face, a question in her eyes. He nodded slightly and her face fell, as though he'd just confirmed her fears.  
'Whatever it is, mate,' Ron said. 'You can tell us.'  
Harry looked at him. Turned to face his best mate - his first friend - and gathered his courage.  
'I - I've been seeing someone. It - there was nothing to it. Nothing like that. But tonight. I-' He took a deep breath, seeing the growing comprehension on Ron's face as his eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down.  
'I kissed him. I kissed someone else and I shouldn't have and I didn't mean to hurt anyone and how can I tell Ginny?' His words came in a rush, and then he couldn't look Ron in the eye anymore. He dropped his head and hugged his arms around his knees. 'It wasn't supposed to be like this.'

The first words came from Hermione and they were the last he'd expected.  
'Was it your therapist? That Samael Ladon you mentioned today?'  
Harry jerked his head up, the answer written all over his face.  
Hermione shook her head, her face filling with something that looked like anger, mixed with pity.  
'Oh, Harry! That is so wrong!' He flinched at the judgement in her words, and she reached across to put a hand on his arm. 'He's taken advantage of you. This goes against every code of ethics. He had no right to put you in a vulnerable position and encourage you to develop feelings for him. Who else has he done this to? I meant to look him up on Monday, but I need to send an owl this -'  
She was cut off as Ron pulled her back down into the seat beside him.

'You cheated on Ginny? With a bloke?' Ron asked, looking Harry square in the eye. Harry set his shoulders and nodded, looking back at Ron. He had to own up to it. Had to take what was coming.  
'And you haven't told her?'  
Harry froze, dread seeping through him at the thought of telling Ginny what he'd done.  
Ron nodded as if that confirmed what he'd thought. 'You need to tell her what happened. You need to go home and tell her and the two of you need to sort out what it means. If it was just a kiss, maybe you can talk through it.' 

Harry thought about the kiss, the way it had set him on fire, more passionate than any lovemaking he'd had in a very long time. Things with Ginny used to be good - great even - but it hadn't felt _exciting_ in a long time. He thought about Ladon's arms around him after a scene, Ladon taking him apart. Thought about telling him things that were deep and dark inside him, that he hadn't wanted anyone else to know. Harry thought about what else he'd wanted, when Ladon's hands had been on him. He shook his head. It wasn't just a kiss.  
Ron's face softened slightly. 'We're here for you, mate. When you're done, the door's open, if you need it. But talk to her first, okay?'

Harry realised Ron was right. He owed it to Ginny to deal with this with her first, not to be running to his friends to try and hide from what he'd done, or make himself feel better.  
'You're right,' he said, putting his cup down on the table and standing up. 'You're right. I'll talk to her. Tonight.'  
Ron nodded and stood as well. He pulled Harry into a brief, but tight, hug. Harry abruptly felt terrible for putting him in this situation, for seeking comfort from Ron when it was his sister that he'd hurt.  
'I need to go and check if Hugo went down okay,' Ron said, kissing Hermione lightly on the cheek and somehow communicating with her without words. She nodded slightly. He gave Harry a half smile and a last, troubled glance before he disappeared back up the stairs. Harry watched him go, a pang shooting through him at their familiarity. Had him and Ginny been in sync like that, when they were younger?

Harry was left looking at Hermione, whose face was still etched with concern.  
'Harry, this is really serious. We need to report him for the breach in -'  
'Don't,' Harry blurted. 'He's not -' He paused, steeling himself. 'He's not a therapist as such. I have been talking to him - a lot - and it's helping. But he's not a therapist. He runs a club.'  
Hermione's expression changed, becoming more calculating. 'What sort of club?'  
Harry swallowed. 'A - a BDSM club. For Muggles.'  
'I see,' Hermione's voice was faint. 'And going there - it helps?'  
Harry nodded, willing her to read the truth of it in his eyes.

Hermione nodded back at him.  
'Okay.' She opened her mouth as if to say more, then shut it again. Then she said suddenly, 'Talk to Ginny. This - I think we've all been expecting something like this for a while.'  
She saw the expression on his face and backpedalled. 'Not _this_ exactly, but something to change between you two. You seem like you've been drifting apart for a while. But … you never wanted to talk about it. And Ginny didn't either and I haven't known what to do. And I've just hated seeing you both so miserable, Harry.'  
Harry stepped forward, pulling her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest.

'I didn't mean for this to happen,' Harry murmured into Hermione's hair. She tightened her grip on him and her embrace made him feel - just for a moment - that things might be okay.

\------

Grimmauld Place was dark when he stepped out of the Floo. Harry waved his hand and the kitchen lit up. He was about to head upstairs, wondering if it would be better to wake Ginny or wait until the morning, when he saw the note on the table.

_Came home for a bit after training but you were out, so I've gone for dinner with a few people from the team._  
_See you tomorrow._  
_G_

He felt his heart sink at the same time that relief slid through him. He slumped against the bench and looked at the note, letting the whirlwind of the night catch up with him. Everything had happened so quickly - so intensely. He remembered the look in Ladon's eyes - pupils blown wide as he'd murmured Harry's name, pulling him closer and kissing him hard and fast. Harry closed his eyes, feeling a tingle of arousal slip over his body. Ladon had wanted him _so much_. He didn't think he'd ever been looked at that way before. He wondered what would have happened if he'd stayed … wondered if Ladon would have pulled him into his lap, hands moving lower … Harry felt a rush of heat to his cock and he cursed at himself. This - this wasn't right.

He pushed away from the bench, stalking out of the kitchen, the lights cutting off with a frustrated wave of his hand. He went upstairs to his room, stripping Ron's shirt over his head and throwing it in the corner. Then he moved into the bathroom, dropping his pants as he went, kicking them off his feet and starting the shower running with a twist of his fingers. He stepped into it cold, gasping under the sensation, willing his growing arousal to recede. But as the water heated up, flowing over his chest - nipples tight and sensitive with the cold, cock stirring to life - he couldn't help the thoughts rushing through his mind.

Ladon's mouth had been hot and demanding. His hands had fisted in Harry's hair - gripped his arm hard enough to bruise. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers over his neck, remembering Ladon's mouth on it, the scrape of his teeth. He felt a flood of arousal run through him and his cock jerked. He imagined Ladon behind him in the shower, teeth on his neck, biting him, hands in his hair - strong, hard body hot against his. His cock jerked again and Harry gritted his teeth, leaning forward so his head rested on the slick tiles.  
He imagined Ladon's hands dropping to his hips - lower, to cup his arse. Harry spread his legs, feeling the hot water run over his lower back, hitting his balls as he tilted his hips slightly. He shuddered at the sensation.

This was wrong - but he couldn't stop himself. Didn't want to stop himself. His hand drifted down to his cock, rock hard and jutting forward from his body. He hissed as he wrapped a hand around himself, squeezing as he stroked his fist up and down. With a thought, his hand was covered in lube and he moaned softly at the slick relief. He imagined Ladon's hands gripping his hips, fingers bruising as he rubbed his rigid length between Harry's arse cheeks. He wondered how it would feel. He'd touched himself there, a few times, when he'd been younger - curious. Had even thought about getting something - a toy … but he'd been with Ginny. Been happy with Ginny. And the thought of asking for that … asking her to do that to him … He'd been too embarrassed and scared of what her response would be to ever ask.

Now he barely hesitated before slicking the fingers of his other hand as well and sliding them down between his arse cheeks. He pushed firmly against that spot behind his balls and slid them upwards, gasping as he felt the drag over his hole. He fisted his cock again, slowly, sliding his fingers up and down, imagining it was Ladon doing it. Teasing him. Preparing him. The thought made him clench, pre-come dribbling from his cock.  
He pushed harder on his next pass, one fingertip dipping inside. He moaned at the feeling. How sensitive it felt - how different … how forbidden. He tilted his hips forward, fisting his cock, and then back, pushing the finger further inside himself. He moaned again, repeating the movement, imagining the warmth of the shower on his back was the warmth of a body, imagining Ladon's gravelly voice in his ear.

_You look so good like this, Harry. So perfect._

He bit his lip, thrusting faster, grinding back harder. His rhythm steadied and he could feel his pleasure building.

_You want it so much, don’t you, Harry._

He gasped, stripping his cock faster, shoving a second finger in beside the first and hissing at the burn of it.

_That's it, Harry. Take it. I know you can._

He whimpered, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and biting hard into his lip. He tasted blood and the pain just drove his arousal higher. He fisted his cock furiously, pulling it roughly, his fingers shoving in and out of himself, the reach awkward - not quite right. Despite that, he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. This wasn't like the weekly wanks he usually had - this was fast and desperate and like molten lava boiling through him.

_That's it, love. Come for me._

Harry cried out and shuddered, slumping against the wall as his orgasm crashed over him like a wave, ripping itself out of his body. He panted desperately, shuddering his way through it. His movements slowed as he worked his cock loosely, aftershocks rocking through him as he clenched. Finally he groaned in satisfaction. As he gathered his wits, reality came crashing back down. He dropping his hands guiltily, trying to ignore the sensation of emptiness - incompletion. He leaned forward, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath under the stream of water.

What was he doing? What had he done? He washed the evidence down the drain, trying to ignore the bliss still shivering through him.

Harry turned the shower off and dressed slowly, climbing into bed with a tumult of thoughts swirling through his mind. He lay awake in the dark for a long time - in the bed that he shared with his wife of ten years. It was Christmas in a week. It was Christmas and he was about to ruin everything.

\---

It was three more days before he could talk to Ginny … it wasn't that he'd been avoiding it. There had been a big case at work he'd had to stay late for - a Muggle had driven a lorry straight into the side of a bus full of wizarding families, headed to the Bridge for one of the Reparation Society outings. Two adults and five children were in St Mungo's being treated for serious injuries. The driver had died at the scene. The crash in itself would have been written off as an unfortunate accident … but the Muggle had had photos in his vehicle. Names. Like he had been watching some of the families who had been on the trip.  
Harry was due to give a briefing to the Minister about it the next day.

The next night Ginny had headed out for a team Christmas celebration - he hadn’t wanted to ask her to change plans she'd been looking forward to … but when they'd woken up on Wednesday morning, Harry hard and aching from a confusing dream full of ropes and firm hands and gentle words, he'd caught Ginny in the kitchen before she headed out for the day.  
'Are you home tonight?' he asked.  
She glanced at him, surprise in her face. 'Yeah, we have a debrief until six, but I'll be home after that.'  
'Great,' he replied. 'I'll get dinner.'  
Ginny smiled. 'Sounds good.'  
Harry felt his heart clench in his chest. He was such a shit. 'Sounds good,' he echoed.

He spent the day in a state of restless agitation. He snapped at one of the Junior Aurors who was trying to go on about something to do with old letters, and then immediately regretted it. But he couldn’t bring himself to go and find her again. He'd do it tomorrow. He wondered what tomorrow would bring.

He considered writing to Ladon, but he had no idea what he'd say.  
_I'm sorry for what I did._  
_I want to do it again._  
_I won't be coming to the club anymore._  
_When are you free next? I need to see you._

_I can't get you out of my head. I want to ruin my entire life to be with you._

He picked up lamb shanks on his way home, putting them straight under the pressure spell and getting the rest of the ingredients in with them in record time. Then he went upstairs to shower and change. He came back down, nervous, moving around, tidying things up. Ginny walked in close to seven and sniffed appreciatively.  
'Shanks?' She looked at him with a teasing smile. 'What have you done?'  
Harry started, guilt ratcheting through him again. 'Nothing - um - do you want to eat first, or …' He took a deep breath, trying to centre himself. 'I need to - there's something I have to tell you.'  
Ginny stared at him, the playfulness dropping from her face.

'Let's talk first,' she said, dropping into a seat at the kitchen.  
Harry sat down opposite her. 'Right. Um - there's something. I - it happened a few days ago but you've been out and I've been - and I mean -'  
'Harry,' Ginny interrupted him, watching him closely. 'What is it?'  
He looked at her a moment longer, not wanting to say the words that would change everything.  
'I - I kissed someone. A man.' He glanced away, rubbing his neck, then looked back at her. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen,' he blurted, closing his mouth abruptly and looking to her for her reaction.

'Harry,' she looked hesitant, sad, her face showing none of the shock and anger he'd expected. 'I've ... well, for a while now I've been ... seeing someone.'  
Harry stared at her, nonplussed. He'd just told his wife he'd kissed someone else and she wanted to talk about -  
'Like a therapist?' he asked.  
A series of expressions flitted across her face, almost too quick to catch. Exasperation. Guilt. Resolve.  
'No.' She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. 'Like - like a friend. Who's becoming more than a friend.' She took a deep breath. 'Who I want as more than a friend.'

Harry looked at her, stunned, hearing the words but not taking them in. She couldn't mean -

'I've tried to talk to you about it. So many times. But you were always too tired or too busy or just watching something on that damned television and not even listening. I'm sorry, Harry. I'd planned to bring it up … to make some changes, after Christmas and all that is done. I didn’t want to - to ruin things.'

He stared at her, the words cutting into him.  
'Are you serious - how long?' he demanded.  
She dropped her gaze for a moment but then took a deep breath, her eyes meeting his resolutely. 'About five months. We met on my first trip to the States.'

'Half a year?' he growled. 'I've been tearing myself apart because I kissed someone on the weekend and you've been fucking around for _half a year_!'  
Ginny's eyes narrowed, but she took a deep breath. 'I haven't been _fucking around_ , but yes, we’ve become friends. And yes, we both want to become more - more than friends. I should have told you sooner. But I didn't want to hurt you. You just seemed - you seemed like you were happy to just ignore it - everything. You seemed happy with how things were. And I didn't - you didn't deserve for me to ruin that.'  
Harry stared at her, floored at her response.  
'You're saying this is _my_ fault?' he said, incredulous. 'It's my fault you're, what, in love with someone else, because I was too dumb to notice?'

Ginny shook her head, eyes hardening. 'That's not what I'm saying at all - I'm just - I wanted someone I could talk to. Someone who was interested in me. Someone who could tell me about themselves, what they were thinking and feeling. I - I was just sick of being alone in my own relationship. In _our_ relationship.' She sighed, shoulders slumping. 'I just wanted to be _wanted_ \- to be happy again, Harry.'  
Harry felt her words prick at him - happy? Sure, neither of them had been happy lately, but was this a reason to - he felt his shock and incredulity turn slowly into anger as he focussed instead on this 'other man'. This was his fault. He recalled late nights, notes about friends, last minute trainings.  
'Was he at your team party last night?' he demanded, feeling his magic crackle up inside him, rushing to defend against what he was feeling.  
Ginny hesitated, and then nodded.

Harry felt his anger stir higher. His magic sparked and a glass cracked on the shelf behind him. Ginny flinched and then narrowed her eyes.  
'Stop it, Harry. This can't be such a surprise. Things have changed so much between us. You're clearly not happy either, or you wouldn't have kissed someone else.'  
Harry gritted his teeth at her tone. It was conciliatory. It felt patronising. He felt his magic flare again and another glass cracked.  
'Don't tell me what I should know,' he growled.  
Ginny shook her head at him, lifting her chin and staring him in the eyes. 'Get your damned magic under control! You're acting like a kid having a tantrum. I never know what you bloody should or shouldn't know. Because you never _tell me_ what's going on. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for not telling you when it started - when I knew I wanted more. But I don't regret getting closer to him. I needed it.'

'You needed it,' he sneered. 'What about us? What about what we needed?'  
Ginny laughed, and there was a bitter edge to it. 'What us, Harry? You gave up on _us_ years ago. You've not felt fully in this forever.'  
'I've done everything for you,' Harry objected angrily, thinking of so many years of pushing aside doubts and thoughts that made him question whether there was something more. Something better. Or just something wrong with him that meant he couldn't enjoy what he had.

'That's the problem, isn't it, Harry?' Ginny said, her voice sad. 'You were always trying to be who you thought I wanted you to be. You've never just been yourself. You never let me in. This was supposed to be a partnership. You were supposed to be the one person I could rely on above all else.' Ginny's voice cracked slighly and Harry felt his heart clench at the sight of her unhappiness. 'You never let us have that, Harry. All these years and you never let me _in_.' She had tears in her eyes when she looked at him. 'My damned _brother_ knows you better than I do.'

Harry felt the words hit him like knives, the truth of them stabbing deep into him, echoing the words Malfoy had thrown at him. _What do_ you _want, Potter?_  
'Fucks sake, Ginny,' he said, anger surging through him again - so much more preferaable than guilt - as he pushed up from the table. All of the lights in the house flared painfully bright for a moment as Harry glared across the table at his wife. 'You don't know - I can't-'  
He cut himself off with a frustrated cry and whirled in place, concentrating on getting himself as far away from here - as far away from _her_ as he could.

\-------

He was still seething when he landed at the Apparition point nearest to Release. He didn't know what he was doing. Didn't know if this was a good idea. Didn't care. He felt like things were spiralling out of his control. His magic was sparking wildly around him, the air gusting leaves into little whirlwinds and street lights flickering. He tried to reign it in. Couldn't. He couldn't believe Ginny. Gods, it hurt. Why did it hurt so much? Things had changed. He knew that. But did he want her to leave him? They'd been together since he was sixteen. Could he deal with that? He gritted his teeth and stalked to the club. Ladon had better be there. He needed to get this under control. Needed to get it out of his head. To forget it until he could process it.

The doors slammed open at his raised hand and a man in Dahlia's customary place looked up in surprise, which turned to alarm as he took in Harry's brooding form, the tension in his face - the air of power that flickered around him. Harry strode to the desk, putting both hands on it and glaring down.  
'I want Ladon. Now,' he said through clenched teeth.  
The man opened his mouth to protest, but something he saw in Harry's face seemed to make him reconsider. He pushed a button on the desk, and then looked up at Harry.  
'Mr Ladon will be here momentarily.'  
Harry grunted and turned away, pacing, feeling trapped in his own skin. _Ginny_. How could she? He ignored the voice that whispered, _You want to do the same thing. It was easy to fall into. Doesn't she deserve to be happy?_

He spun around when a cool voice said, 'Harry.'  
The relief he felt at seeing Ladon's face was overwhelming and he felt his magic flicker and subside for a moment. The air no longer felt as heavy and charged as it had.  
Ladon looked him up and down, curiosity morphing into … concern?  
'Come with me,' he said, stepping back towards the door to the public room and gesturing that Harry should follow.  
Harry fell into step behind him automatically, happy to have direction. To know that he could hand this - this shitshow - to someone else for just a moment.

He followed Ladon past the public room. Ladon stopped by the bar and gathered a small package, which he handed to Harry.  
'Your wand's in there,' he said in a low voice. 'Would that help with the -' He waved his hand at the feeling of chaotic energy that surrounded Harry.  
Harry shook his head but took the package. 'Probably make it worse.'

Ladon looked at him for a long moment, questions hanging in his eyes, but he didn't speak, just indicated Harry should follow him again. They moved out of the public room and into a private one - not one of the ones he'd been in before. It looked more like a sitting room, the walls a soft grey. There were chairs and a couch in front of a fire. It looked like someone's house.  
Ladon gestured him to the couch and Harry sat heavily, putting the pile of belongings on the ground beside him.  
'What's wrong?' Ladon asked, taking a seat at the other end of the couch and watching him carefully. There was something in his regard that pulled another layer of calm over Harry, allowed him to take a breath. He could tell Ladon. After all, he'd told him so much worse.

'I told Ginny - my wife -' He paused, feeling dumb. 'You'd know she's my wife. Everyone knows that. Fuck. I told her about what happened,' Harry blurted. 'Between us.' He glanced at Ladon as he said that, abruptly aware that they hadn't spoken since the kiss.  
Ladon stilled. 'And?'  
Harry felt his anger spark again. The fire flared brighter in response and Ladon glanced at it for a moment before turning back, raising an eyebrow - probably at the fact that he couldn't get control and was acting like some kid who hadn't got his first wand.  
'And she told me she's been wanting to fuck someone else for months. She's in love with him because she can't talk to me or some rubbish,' Harry growled. The fire flared again, high and hot, crackling and twisting. 

Ladon's face changed, though Harry couldn't read the expressions that crossed it in quick succession.  
'How … did you respond?' Ladon asked, his calm tone sounding slightly forced.  
Harry pushed himself to his feet, unable to sit still. 'I - I yelled at her and left.' He paced in front of the fire.  
Ladon snorted softly, but didn't move, his eyes tracking Harry as he stalked back and forth.

'Why are you here?' he asked, after a long moment. Harry stopped, staring across at him, the question catching him off guard. Why _was_ he here? Why hadn't he gone to see Ron and Hermione again? Why hadn't he gone _anywhere_ else, or just told Ginny to get out? His first instinct had been to come to Ladon, the man who was always in control. Always knew just what to do to change his headspace, to make him see there were other choices, other options. The one who saw him as Harry - just Harry - and who had no connection to his life and its dramas.

He looked at Ladon, reclining on the couch, one arm across the back of it, one leg crossed over the other. He wore a crisp navy shirt, opened at the collar, which set off his dark hair and piercing blue eyes perfectly. Harry looked at Ladon and felt the desire he'd felt days earlier - desire he'd been trying to supress ever since - flare abruptly back to life. Anger and wanting had always been two sides of a coin for him.  
In that instant he knew why he'd come - he recognised the twisted mix of hunger and release he was chasing. He knew what he needed and there was no reason for him not to go after it. Not anymore - Ginny had seen to that. He looked Ladon right in the eyes, body tensing in anticipation as he spoke.

'I want you.'  
Ladon drew in a sharp breath and his eyes widened with surprise as he very clearly took Harry's meaning. He hesitated, before shaking his head minutely.  
'Harry, this isn't a good reason to do what you're asking.'  
Harry moved forward, dropping to his knees in front of Ladon and looking up. From the reaction to the kiss on the weekend, he hadn't thought Ladon might say no. Hadn't considered that he might not want him in turn - that the kiss might have been an aberration - a mistake. Was it that he wasn't allowed? He owned the club. He could do what he wanted.  
'Please,' Harry breathed, suddenly desperate not to be turned away - to be unwanted by this man as well.

Ladon shook his head again, though he didn't take his eyes off Harry. 'I'm sorry for what happened.' His mouth twisted slightly as he said that. 'You've had a big shock - bad news - you should be with your friends, or someone close to you. They should be comforting you. This is not the time to make rash decisions you will regret later.' His voice had the faintest note of pleading to it, thought Harry couldn't understand why.

Harry shook his head and looked up at Ladon, trying to project all his want and need into his eyes. 'It's not a rash decision. I've been thinking about it for days. Longer. I -' He hesitated, feeling his anger at Ginny flicker and lose some of its heat. Was he really any better than her? His head felt full of conflicting feelings and emotions. He shook it again. 'Please. You _are_ close to me.' He realised as he said it that it was true. Ladon was a part of his life now, just as much as anyone else, and he realised he wanted to cement that bond, to wrap another layer over to - to bind Ladon to him. 'I want you - I just want you to take everything away. Just for a little while. Please.'

Ladon looked down at him, licking his lips quickly, then he closed his eyes briefly, as though struggling with something.  
'Harry … this is not a good idea. You put - yourself, on your forms when you entered the club, you clearly indicated you didn't -'  
Harry made a sharp gesture, the fire flaring again in response to his spike of emotion. 'Fuck the forms. I know what I want. I'm not married anymore.' As he said the words, he realised with a shock that it was true. He glanced down at his ring, the gold band wrapping his finger. Things were over. Things were really over between him and Ginny. They couldn't come back from this. Not from what she wanted to do. Not from what he was about to. What would be the point, anyway? He thought he would feel grief at that, but all he felt was a resigned sort of sadness, as though he'd been feeling that way for so long now that it had sunk into his bones.

Then another thought struck him, and he sat back on his heels, uncertain now. He remembered what Ladon had said, on his first time in the club. _I don't engage in penetration. Ever._ Was Ladon hesitating because he didn't actually want to do this - go down this path with Harry? He looked up at Ladon, who was watching him with a burning intensity, fingers digging into the back of the couch.

'Are you saying you don't want me?' he asked, softly.  
Ladon drew in a shaking breath and closed his eyes for the briefest second. When he opened them, they were full of heat.  
'No,' he said, voice husky in a way Harry had never heard. 'I'm not saying that at all. I don't think I've ever wanted anything as much as I want you right now. This - I don't feel attracted to people like this, often. It's-' he breathed in deeply, as though struggling with himself. 'It can feel very overwhelming.'

That was all the permission Harry needed. He pushed forward, reaching for Ladon's belt buckle, but Ladon caught his hands, holding them in a firm grip. Harry felt Ladon's magic tingle over him as their skin touched and he realised this was the first time they'd had physical contact without the collar present. His own magic flowed up to meet it, rushing forward like an excited puppy, suddenly calming from the anger it had been swirling with. He liked the sensation - had rarely felt such a reaction from someone else's magic against his. Ladon felt safe. Familiar.  
'Harry, there are things you don't know. About me. You - if you knew, you wouldn't want to-'

Harry shook his head, cutting off the words. 'I don't care. I need this. Please. I want something for _me_ for once. I'm sick of sacrificing myself for other people's happiness.'  
Ladon hissed in a breath at the words and his grip on Harry's wrists loosened slightly. Harry pressed forward, pushing fully onto his knees, and moving between Ladon's spread legs.  
'Harry,' Ladon said again, softly, eyes on his mouth. 'There - I have to tell you something. It's - it's important.'  
Harry shook his head. He didn’t want to deal with anything else right now. Didn’t want to take in another thought - another change. He felt like he was going to burst out of his skin, his magic sparking all over him, its reaction with Ladon's making him feel feverish and reckless.

'I don't care,' he said, and he moved forward, pushing up until his mouth met Ladon's, drawing him into a kiss. Ladon resisted for just a moment, and then with a broken sound, he responded, hands cupping Harry's face as he moved to deepen the kiss immediately, tongue delving into his mouth. Harry groaned at the sensation, surrendering himself to Ladon's control, to the slick slide of their tongues, the sharp nip of Ladon's teeth against his lip. Ladon pulled him closer and Harry pushed his way onto the couch, until he was straddling Ladon's lap. He moaned at the feeling of their bodies touching, hot and hard. He caught the faint scent of lemons, fresh and sharp. Ladon moved one hand into his hair, tugging at the tangled strands. Harry felt the slight pain shoot straight to his cock and warmth flowed through him.

He gasped and then closed his eyes and kissed Ladon harder as he felt the other hand slide down his back to cup his arse, squeezing tightly.  
'Fuck,' he gasped into Ladon's mouth, grinding forward, feeling himself become fully hard.  
Ladon broke the kiss and leaned back against the couch, panting slightly, mouth slick and eyes dark.  
'Not like this,' he rasped. 'Not -' He took a deep breath, seeming to gather himself, calm himself. Harry saw control return to Ladon's face, and his grip on Harry gentled, both hands dropping to his hips.

He looked at Harry, at the frown on his face at the change in his demeanour.  
'We - we need to do things properly,' Ladon said, watching at him with a heady intensity. 'There needs to be rules and - and structure. That's how it works here. Do you understand?'  
Harry nodded, though he didn't really understand - didn't know why they had to stop … it had been incredible to see Ladon as lost in the moment as he had been just then.

Ladon took another deep breath, seeming to run through a series of thoughts.  
'Have you ever been edged?' he asked, after a long moment, eyes meeting Harry's again.  
Harry shook his head slowly, not recognising the word. Ladon smiled, and it was a sharp smile, full of promise. It was his Dom smile. Harry recognised the moment Ladon put his control back in place - could feel it tingle through him.

'I want to edge you,' Ladon said, his voice low and throaty. 'I'm going to collar you, and put a cock ring on you. Then eat you out until you're begging to come. Then I'm going to tease you until you can't take it anymore. And then - _then_ I'm going to fuck you.' Harry felt his breath hitch at the words, at the idea of Ladon's mouth on him - there ... Ladon teasing him … Ladon in him. He felt his cock pressing against his jeans, hard and aching as Ladon twisted long fingers back in his hair, bringing him closer.  
'I'm going to bring you to the edge again and again,' he whispered in Harry's ear, breath hot on his throat. 'But I'm not going to let you fall until I give you permission.' Harry whimpered at the words - at the image they raised. He could already feel himself surrendering to what was about to happen, and he embraced the sensation.

Ladon pulled back and looked at Harry, his other hand tightening momentarily on his hips, fingers digging in.  
'Will you let me do that, Harry?'  
Harry nodded. In that moment, he didn't think he'd ever wanted anything in his life as much as he wanted what Ladon had just described.  
'Yes, sir. Please.'  
Ladon smiled again, leaning forward to kiss him, hard and deep, claiming his mouth. Harry protested when the kiss was broken a moment later. Ladon tipped him off his lap and onto the couch and then he stood, looking down at him. Harry's eye was drawn by Ladon's casual movement as he adjusted his erection in his skin-tight black jeans. His breath hitched to see this sign of Ladon's arousal - of his need. For Harry.

'I'm going to go and get a few things,' Ladon said. 'When I get back, I want you naked and waiting on the couch. You will not touch yourself while I'm gone. Understood?'  
'Yes, sir,' Harry said, arousal spreading through him like liquid fire at the words.  
'Good boy,' Ladon murmured, before he turned and moved to the door. Harry stood as soon as it was closed, shrugging out of his shirt and folding it neatly. He put it on the chair and made short work of his shoes and jeans. He paused, standing with his hands on his pants, looking down at himself, thinking this would be the last moment he had to change his mind. Then he shook his head decisively. He didn't want to change his mind. Didn't want anything but what was coming.

He pulled his pants down, letting his cock bob free, hitting against his stomach for a second, the feeling making him hiss in pleasure. He wanted to stroke himself, rub his thumb over his leaking slit … but Ladon had told him not to.

Instead he moved back to the couch, sitting down and watching the door. Ladon walked in just as Harry was contemplating disobedience again, locking the door behind him and dropping a number of items on an armchair before turning to look at him. Ladon's eyes raked over his body and Harry found himself unconsciously sitting back, stretching out, wanting Ladon to see all of him. He'd never - no one had looked at him with new eyes like this since he'd been seventeen. He wanted to know what Ladon thought - wanted him to be happy with what he saw. He knew he was in good shape, body tight and hard from the sessions he still did regularly at the Ministry gyms.  
The look on Ladon's face was hungry. His gaze was like a caress, taking in every inch of his body. Blue eyes lingered on Harry's cock and he felt himself twitch under the close attention. He reddened in embarrassment at his reaction, but Ladon merely licked his lips, gaze not leaving Harry's hard shaft.

When he finally pulled his eyes up to Harry's, he could see a faint stain of pink on Ladon's cheeks, under his tanned skin, and the evidence of Ladon's enjoyment excited him.  
Ladon glanced at the chair for a moment and then picked up a black rubber figure eight. He gestured for Harry to stand and then grasped his cock firmly at the base, slipping the ring down over it, and looping the other half around his balls before reaching into his pocket and tapping his wand on the band. Both rings tightened instantly, until Harry hissed at the pressure and the increase in sensation. The whole thing was done in about five seconds. Ladon's hands were gone before Harry even had time to feel the pleasure of his touch. 

He leaned forward, wanting another kiss at least, but Ladon stopped him with a _tsk tsk_ and a smirk. 'You're not in charge, love. You'll get what I give you when I want to give it to you.'

Harry forced himself not to protest, the words and the clear command in them shooting desire through him and making his cock throb inside its new restriction.  
Ladon turned away again to retrieve Harry's collar. He considered the slim leather band already around Harry's neck for a moment, an enigmatic smile on his face as he ran a single finger over it, Then he shook himself slightly and fastened the heavier band around his neck with deft movements. Harry closed his eyes in relief as his magic cut off, and the soothing security that wearing the collar brought washed over him. It took the edge off his desperate need, took away the tingling sparks of magic teasing their way over his skin. He sighed in relief and closed his eyes, feeling himself sink further into the headspace of being Harry - Ladon's Harry.

Then a thought struck him and he opened his eyes again.  
'Can you … do it as yourself?'  
Ladon looked shocked at the request, a series of emotions flickering across his face, wariness being the one that he was left with. He regarded Harry in silence for a long moment.  
'You want me to wear my real face?' he queried at last.  
Harry nodded, wanting it even more than when he'd first thought of it.  
'Why?' Ladon asked, the wariness still there.  
Harry looked at him and thought about all the answers he could give. He settled on the truth - on the thing that had occurred to him.

'It's … I've never done this before,' he said softly, almost shyly. 'I - I don't want it to be a lie.'  
Ladon hissed in a breath at the words, eyes looking anguished. He dropped the control he'd been sporting since he'd broken their kiss, when he'd told Harry what was going to happen. Now he looked torn.  
'Harry - the thing I was going to tell you-'

'It doesn't matter,' Harry interrupted. 'You can keep your secrets. I know you have a life - a family. I don't want to put that in danger. I just - I want this to be real. I-' He cast his mind wildly about for something that would convince Ladon. 'I'll wear the blindfold again.'  
Ladon bit his lip, clearly struggling with his desire and his reluctance. 'Wouldn't that defeat the purpose?' he said at last.  
Harry shrugged, sensing Ladon was wavering. He didn't know why he wanted this so much, only that he did. 'I'd still know,' he whispered.

Ladon's eyes dropped, running up Harry's body again, as he palmed himself through his pants, shuddering in a breath. 'Okay' he rasped, picking up Harry's shirt and transfiguring it with a whispered word. 'Okay,' he said again.  
Ladon stepped forward, wrapping the soft cloth around Harry's eyes, his mouth meeting Harry's again as his hands moved behind his head, tying the blindfold in place with swift tugs. As they kissed, Harry felt Ladon change, lips becoming thinner, nose scraping slightly against his cheek. He whimpered into it - into the thought that this was Ladon as he really was - that Harry would get to have him like this, like none of the others in this club ever did. 

Ladon's hands came around to cup his face and he gentled the kiss, making it soft, and sweet. Then he pulled back, pressing forward to kiss Harry once more, almost chastely, before he spoke.  
'Take a step forward. I want you to bend over the arm of the couch.'  
His voice was the same and Harry was surprised for a moment. 'Is that your real voice?' he blurted out, before he could stop himself.  
Ladon huffed out what sounded like a laugh. 'No,' he said. 'You're not having that too.' Then he delivered a sharp smack to Harry's arse. 'Now do as you're told.'

Harry smiled and stepped forward. This hastily-made blindfold was just an ordinary one. It didn't remove his vision completely. Slivers of light peeked in from above and below and he used those to guide his steps forward, stopping when he could just make out the shape of the couch. He bent forward, placing his hands on the edge of the couch, intensely aware that he was presenting his naked arse to Ladon's view.  
'More,' Ladon said, and Harry slipped his hands off the arm and onto the cushion, leaning forward. His legs widened automatically and he knew his arsehole was on display now, as well as his balls, held tight by the band around them. The thought made his whole body tense in anticipation. 

'More,' Ladon said again, voice slightly husky. Harry took a shaky breath at the command and leaned right down, crossing his arms on the cushion and leaning his head on them, his cock rubbing against the arm of the couch as he bent right forward, presenting his arse high in the air.  
'Perfect,' Ladon murmured. 'You're beautiful like this, Harry.'  
Harry's heartbeat sped up at the words - the reverence in Ladon's tone.

Then he felt soft fingers at the back of his neck, tracing their way down his spine - the barest touch. It was gentle and light and his focus narrowed to the feeling of Ladon's touch. The fingers traced lower, dipping between his arse cheeks, ghosting over his hole. Harry couldn't help himself - he jerked forward at the touch. His cock ground against the couch and he whimpered softly at the sensation.  
Ladon's hand moved to grip his arse firmly, one hand on each cheek, spreading them wide. Harry whimpered again, imagining what Ladon was seeing as he stood behind him, looking down. Nervous excitement flared through him at the image.  
'I'm going to lick you, Harry,' Ladon said, voice gravelly and low. 'If you feel like you're going to come, I need you to say "yellow". I will be very disappointed if you come before I say you can.'

Harry felt the fire of his need blaze through him again. He didn't think he'd ever been so turned on in his life. He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut beneath their cloth covering.  
Ladon smacked him on the arse, hard. He gasped and jolted forward against the couch, cock rubbing hard between his stomach and the velvety material.  
'Yes, sir,' he gasped. 'Please, sir.'  
Ladon's grip changed and Harry heard the faint rustle of clothing. He realised Ladon must have dropped to his knees and he shuddered with anticipation. 

Then he felt hot air ghost over his skin and between his cheeks. He twitched again, clenching and jerking forward slightly. Ladon's hands gripped him harder, fingers digging in to keep him spread open. Harry wondered absently whether he'd bruise. He hoped he would.

The breath of air came again, then he felt Ladon's tongue, hot and wet, skating over the base of his balls, over the ring that held them tight and then up, dragging with delicious slick pressure over his hole. He gasped at the sensation. It felt better - so much better - than his fingers ever had.  
Ladon's tongue came again, following the exact same path. Slow and pressing, dragging up over his rim and then past it. Harry tried to tilt his hips, chasing the sensation, wanting more of it on the place that made heat pool in his belly. But Ladon's grip was immovable. He licked again and again, slow and sure and Harry moaned, pressing against the couch.

Ladon pulled back and Harry bit his lip to stop the protest that rose to it.  
'Do you like that, Harry?' he asked, voice husky.  
Harry nodded. 'Yes. Yes, sir. I - it feels brilliant. Please.'  
Ladon's mouth returned to him, faster this time, tongue lapping at his hole without reprieve, swirling around it. He felt the broad, wet strokes pushing at him, as though seeking entry. The idea sent fiery want spearing through him - would Ladon really?

As he thought it, Ladon pushed against his hole, humming his own pleasure as his tongue breached Harry.  
'Oh fuck,' Harry cried, feeling himself opened, feeling Ladon's tongue licking into him. 'Fuck. Fuck.' He pushed back as much as he could - as much as Ladon's grip would allow and he was rewarded with the fast thrusting of Ladon's tongue against him - in him. He moaned again, turning his head to bite his forearm, trying to stop the words that wanted to spill from his lips.

Ladon drew back, licking at him again. Harry could feel how wet it was, how messy he was, spread open for Ladon to see. The thought turned him on even more. Ladon's grip on him had loosened slightly and he ground against the couch, the friction and the pressure sending his hips jerking, chasing release. 

'Please, sir,' he begged. 'Please. More. _Please_.' He sucked in heaving breaths, hips moving of their own volition, grinding his hard and leaking cock against the couch before pressing back into Ladon's penetrating tongue. Ladon moved closer again, his arms coming up to wrap around Harry's lower back as he buried his face deeper, speeding up his movements, making little noises of pleasure. It was this that undid Harry - the thought that Ladon was getting off on doing this to him. He could feel it building in him, feel the orgasm rising. He gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes tight.  
'Yellow,' he gasped. 'Yellow!'

Ladon's mouth left him immediately. The grip on him changed direction, pulling him back from the couch until his hips were jerking against air. Harry let out a shaky cry, breath shuddering in his lungs as he fought to get himself under control. At last, at long last, the need subsided. He moaned at the loss of his orgasm as he rested his head on his arms and breathed deeply for a moment.

'Well done, Harry. That was brilliant. Sit down now, love. That's it. Just here on the edge of the couch.' Ladon guided Harry's movements as he shifted around, slumping into the couch. Ladon pulling his hips forward, closer to the edge. Harry felt shaky, full of tension. It was simmering through his body, making him aware of every part of himself, pulling his focus into the here and now.

He concentrated on trying to steady his breath, twitching slightly as he waited to see what Ladon would do next. He heard the shuffle of movement again, and then a click and a buzzing sound. He tensed, worried suddenly that it was the agiel. He didn’t think - knew he didn't want that pain on his sensitive areas. The buzz clicked off and Ladon put his hand on Harry's leg, seeming to guess what he'd been worried about.  
'This is a vibrator. It's a Muggle invention. For pleasure. I'm going to use it on you. If it's too intense, or you don't like it, let me know, alright?'  
Harry nodded, relaxing. Ladon's hand left his leg and Harry heard the click and the noise again. He jolted as a smooth object touched his thigh, buzzing with a low hum against his skin. It felt good, not at all like the harsh sting of the agiel and Harry relaxed further. 

Ladon trailed the vibrator up his thigh, increasing the pressure slightly as he moved it closer to the juncture of his legs. Harry spread them automatically and Ladon dripped lube on him, cold and slippery, then skated the vibrator underneath his balls, over the sensitive skin there. Harry hissed and twitched as he did, his hips jerking up, cock throbbing. But Ladon simply moved past, trailing the thing down his other thigh, setting his nerve ending tingling. He groaned slightly, resting his head on the back of the couch and spreading his arms wide, bracing himself. 

Ladon dragged the vibrations back up his leg and Harry tensed for the burst of pleasure again, but Ladon moved it up, just grazing the length of his cock. The buzz of movement sent sparks of heat through him. He curled in on himself slightly he groaned again. Ladon dragged the vibrator up his stomach and then onto his nipple, letting it rest there, vibrating against the hardened nub, sending pleasure jolting through him. He twitched his hands, clenching them on the cushions to stop himself from reaching down, grabbing his cock and jerking himself until he came. It would barely take anything to send him over the edge.

Ladon moved to his other nipple, paying it the same attention and Harry groaned. His whole body felt like it was sparking with sensation and desire. Ladon clicked something again and the vibrations were suddenly much stronger. Harry's stomach clenched and he hissed out his breath, digging his fingers into the couch, torn between pushing against the device and trying to escape it.

Ladon made a sound that might have been a groan or a laugh and then the vibrator was rubbing between Harry's legs again, underneath his balls, in that soft place that sent its rumbling shivering up into his stomach, pooling there like fire.  
'Fuck,' Harry gasped out. 'Fuck. Fuck. _Gods_.'  
He threw his head back as Ladon lifted one of his legs, placing it on the edge of the couch so that his arse was fully on view again. The vibrator dipped lower, circling his rim before tracing up to the base of his balls, buzzing against the ring encircling him.

Harry moaned at the intensity of it. He'd never felt anything like it. It felt like it was rushing straight to his prick and he wanted - desperately - to be touched there.  
Ladon slipped the tip of the vibrator inside him, just enough to stretch him a little, to put pressure on him. Harry's whole focus narrowed to that sensation, the slight movements as the vibration teased at him. Ladon slipped it in and out just a fraction. Just enough.

Then he clicked the button again and the vibrations changed. The buzz was soft now, gentle. Harry sucked in a deep breath, relaxing slightly, but a moment later it kicked up in intensity, shooting through him. He arched and cried out. A few seconds later the vibration increased again, hard and fast. Harry moaned and thrashed his head, feeling his need begin to build again. 

A moment later the sensation was gone, and the low, gentle buzz was back.  
'Fuck,' he groaned. 'Please. No. Please.'  
The buzzing moved up to the middle speed again, pulling against his rim, making him want to grind down onto it. Harry panted and gasped, and then it hit top speed, pleasure burning through him like fire. 'I can't,' he moaned, pushing down against it. Ladon didn't hold it steady and Harry's movement did nothing to relieve the tension growing in him.

Then the low buzz came again. He could feel himself getting lost in it - lost in the cycle of pleasure without release. Ladon teased at him, the pleasure building again and again, the sensation never quite enough - never long enough to let it break. He felt as though he were cresting one wave after another, desperate to let it finally break on him, drown him. He could think of nothing but the bliss rushing through his body. Then Ladon moved the vibrator, trailing it up to his balls and letting it sit there, against the ring, the vibrations shuddering through his cock as well. It was a steady speed and Harry cried out again at the intensity of it, his stomach muscles clenching and his hips jerking involuntarily. He wanted - he couldn't -

'Y- Ye-,' he sobbed. Ladon seemed to understand, turning the vibrator off and taking it away from him, soothing his hands down Harry's shaking legs gently, as though quieting a frightened animal.  
'You're doing incredibly well, Harry,' Ladon murmured softly, tone full of something that sounded like pride. Harry let the sound fill him up, let himself bask in it. 'You're so perfect. So good. One more time, okay. Just one more.'  
Harry shook his head at the thought, gasping for breath, unable to see, unable to think of anything except the needs of his body.  
'Colour, Harry?' Ladon asked, cupping his cheek with one hand. Harry turned into the feeling, nuzzling against Ladon's palm, laying a desperate messy kiss there.  
'Green. Please. Green,' he panted.  
'So good, Harry,' Ladon praised, voice husky. Then he moved back and Harry keened at the loss of the touch.

'Hush,' Ladon said. 'I just need - I'm taking my clothes off. Hush now. I'll give you what you need soon, love. I promise.'  
Harry clung to those words - to the warmth in Ladon's voice - to the feeling of safety and protection that radiated from him.  
Then Ladon was back, kneeling between his legs, hands running soothingly up his thighs and then finally - finally - there was a hand on his cock. Ladon gripped him firmly and Harry moaned at how good he felt - how much he needed the touch.

Ladon's hand was slick and he moved it slowly up and down Harry's shaft, pulling his foreskin back and rubbing a thumb across the head of his cock with every stroke. Harry jerked and fucked up into it, unable to stop himself, animal need taking over. It felt so good. It - he needed it. Needed more. Faster. It was too much at the same time. Too sensitive. His whole body was tense, muscles locked as the intensity of the touch flooded over him.

Then there were slick fingers rubbing over his hole - in him, smooth and pressing, the burn of them adding to the burn of want through him. He pushed down onto them. Wanting it deeper. Needing to be - to be -  
Ladon's presence was all around him. Harry could feel naked skin against his inner thighs as Ladon leaned against him. Lips against his hip as Ladon licked and sucked at the skin there, fingers in him, hands on him. He couldn't hold out again. He couldn't. He _couldn't_.

He writhed and shook his head, beyond words, just knowing he'd been told to stop. He wasn’t _allowed_. Ladon's hands disappeared and Harry felt tears drip from the corners of his eyes, soaking into the blindfold. He panted, struggling for breath. He felt like he was a wire strung tight to breaking point. He wanted - he needed - 'I can't,' he gasped, voice cracking. 'I can't. I can't. I can't.'

Then he was being pulled fully back up onto the couch, manhandled onto his back. A second later Ladon was there, settling between his legs, leaning over him, capturing his mouth in a kiss, hot and hard, murmuring things into the kiss, things he couldn't catch, couldn't hear.

Then Ladon was in him, sliding in, hot and deep, filling him up. Harry cried out, clutching at him, pulling at him. Needing it. Needing it not to stop. It couldn't stop. Ladon's hand was on his cock. Too much and not enough all at the same time. Ladon's movements were fast and hard as he panted above Harry, words tumbling from his lips, praise and love and pleasure. All Harry could feel was Ladon, on him, in him. He felt himself losing touch with everything else - felt like Ladon was becoming a part of him, like he was all that mattered.

Suddenly the cock ring was gone, Harry felt his pleasure intensify again, rising higher than he would have thought imaginable. He cried out, wordlessly, throwing his head back, whole body going rigid.  
'Let go, Harry,' Ladon's voice growled in his ear, raw and desperate as his body stiffened and he clutched Harry hard against himself.  
Harry surrendered to it and felt his orgasm peak, rising in him until it was all he could feel - all he knew, ripping through him with blinding intensity. He cried out, shuddering as he came and came, waves of pleasure rocking over him. Then he let go. He let everything go.

\----

Draco looked down at the man in his arms, muscles still clenching occasionally with aftershocks. Harry's face was lax, as though he were sleeping, but Draco knew he was adrift in his own mind for now. Floating. Draco ran a gentle hand over Harry's hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, protectiveness rushing through him. He wanted to hold Harry here with him, keep him away from the rest of the world, from everyone who wanted to claim a piece of him. He ignored the whisper that that was an impossible dream and leaned his head back against the arm of the couch, shifting Harry slightly so they were lined up against each other more fully.

Harry was all around him. Draco closed his eyes, trying to fight the strength of his feelings. He could taste Harry, smell him. They were still naked, twined around each other, skin sticking slightly. He hadn't had sex in years, let alone sex that intense. Harry had been incredible, so responsive. He'd allowed Draco to drive him higher and higher - given them both exactly what they needed. He hadn't felt such incredible connection to a sub under his hands in a long time - maybe forever. Adding the sex … or maybe adding Harry, had drawn him so deeply into the scene. He was still dazed from the intensity of what they'd done together. 

Draco tried to pull Ladon's image back around himself, wanting to be in control before Harry stirred, but his body resisted, not wanting to change. _Not wanting to lie_ , his mind whispered. He felt that thought spear through him. He'd wanted to tell Harry - was going to. Knew he _had_ to. But things had gone so quickly and … and he admitted to himself, he was afraid of losing this, losing it before he'd even had a chance to have it. Afraid of what would happen when Harry Potter realised just who he was giving himself to. Draco ran his thumb across Harry's cheek, cupping his jaw as he looked down at his peaceful face. He had never been good at being selfless … even when he knew his choices were going to hurt everyone.

He sighed and began to sing softly - one of the songs his mother had taught him, so long ago. The thought of her put a faint echo of loss on his thoughts, turning them melancholy. He knew he was dropping from the high - dropping badly - but couldn't give himself a reason to stop.

 _On part avec le cœur qui tremble_ \- You go forth with your heart  
_Du bonheur de partir ensemble_ \- trembling from the joy of sailing together,  
_Sans savoir ce qui nous attend_ \- not knowing what awaits you.

His arms closed more tightly around Harry's body. He saw the faded mark on his arm, pressed against the names on Harry's ribs. They both had so many scars.  
Draco felt guilt worm its way into him at that thought, killing the feeling of bliss that had spread through him. What he had done - what he was doing - was so, so wrong. He shouldn't have taken advantage of Harry - he was grieving. He had to be. Any blind idiot could see that him and - and _Ginevra_ were no good for each other anymore, but jumping straight into sex with someone else … Draco shouldn't have allowed it. He should have been stronger. Harry didn't need one more thing in his life to fuck him over. 

He should have told Harry who he was.

He sighed and pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead, just above the blindfold, right beside the lightning scar that snaked its way down his face. He'd never made the right choices when it came to Potter. He supposed there was no reason to assume he should start now.  
Harry stirred and Draco shushed him softly, beginning to sing again.

 _Ainsi commence le voyage_ \- So does begin a journey  
_Semé d'écueils et de mirages_ \- strewn with the hardships and illusions  
_De l'amour et de ses tourments_ \- of love and its torments.

'Oh, Harry,' he whispered, running his fingers through the mess of thick dark hair. 'What have I done?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's allllll sorts of messed up now :(
> 
> There was a _lot_ in that chapter, so I would love your thoughts on any part of it. 
> 
> I got such beautiful feedback on the last one, and it boosted me for days. You're all so wonderful for reading and supporting this story, even though it comes to you sporadically.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a change of pace and we're heading in a bit of a new direction (don't worry all the current stuff is still in play). It's something I hadn't originally planned when I started the story but have been building up to for the last little while. 
> 
> Warning that we will be discussing the bus crash/attack from last chapter in more detail (nothing graphic or gory, but certainly framed as a hate crime or domestic terrorism). There will be other similar discussions in upcoming chapters, so I wanted to give a heads up to anyone who may have experienced events that would make these uncomfortable topics to read about.

It was three in the morning when Harry got back to Grimmauld Place. He went upstairs quietly, but wasn't surprised to see that the bedroom was empty. He didn’t have the energy to wonder where Ginny had gone. He hoped she was okay. He'd have to owl her in the morning. Apologise for the way he'd reacted. They should talk. That wasn't the way he wanted things to end.

Harry fell into bed half-dressed, feeling wrung out, mentally, physically and emotionally. The last few days had been a rollercoaster, one he wasn’t sure he'd come down from. His whole body still thrummed from what he'd just experienced.

Then he felt his mood crash again as he remembered his exchange with Ladon as they'd been getting dressed again, returning themselves to their lives.

'Can I see you, outside of the club?' he asked, pulling on his jeans and zipping them up.  
Ladon paused, buttoning his shirt. He'd already been wearing it by the time Harry had been aware enough to take the blindfold off and start coming back to earth.  
Harry had seen the answer in Ladon's face before he spoke the words, and the memory still made his heart clench.  
'I don't see people outside of the club. That's-' Ladon took a breath. 'That's a rule I'm not going to break.'  
'Not even to get a drink?' Harry queried, desperate for the connection they'd had to continue beyond this moment - this room. 'Just as friends?'

Ladon shook his head. 'Especially not then,' he said. He paused, and then looked Harry in the eyes. 'We shouldn't have done that, Harry. I have rules, and they’re in place for a reason. I can do scenes with you, but we can never - not like that again. Do you understand me?' 

Harry took in the words and felt like his insides had turned to glass, felt like one tiny tap would send him splintering to pieces. He took in a deep, shaky breath.  
'Right. Right, of course.' The sting of rejection cut deeply into him and he reached for his shirt, tugging it quickly and roughly over his head. It was time to leave. He had to leave now. He felt flayed open, raw. Ladon didn't want him - hadn't wanted him? Everything had seemed so real - their connection had seemed so real, but now Ladon was turning him away?  
He felt confused and disoriented, as though he couldn't trust his own judgement as he continued to come down from what he had experienced under Ladon's hands.

Then those hands were on him, gentle and sure. Ladon turned him around, gathered him close. Harry went willingly, couldn't help himself. He buried his face in Ladon's neck.  
'Harry,' Ladon murmured into his hair. 'Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. You -' Ladon's arms tightened around him and he huffed a sigh into Harry's hair. 'You were amazing, Harry. I've never experienced anything like that. Not with anyone.'  
Harry put his arms around Ladon in turn, holding him close, taking the comfort while he could.  
He felt Ladon press a kiss to his hair and closed his eyes, wanting to pretend. Wanting to pretend he could have this.

 

Harry rolled over in bed, trying to forget the exchange, the way his whole body still yearned for Ladon's touch, the comfort of his arms. He felt confused, torn, not sure what was real and what was just desperate longing for something he could never have.

His sleep, when it came, was fitful and broken.

\-----

The Auror office was buzzing the next day, as it had been since the bus crash on Monday. What they were now calling a deliberate attack on the members of the Pureblood Reparations Society was top priority for the entire DMLE. The Society members had been on their fortnightly Magical-Muggle Education bus trip, and no one had had a _hint_ that something like this was coming.  
They'd had teams searching the Muggle man's lorry and house for further clues about his identity and motives. They'd duplicated both crime scenes and then left the Muggle Police a copy that didn't include photos of witches and wizards who existed on none of their databases. 

Harry rubbed his hand over his tired eyes, nudging his glasses up out of the way, then he looked again at the latest report in front of him, frowning in frustration. The attacker's name was David Bright. He was in his mid-forties and lived alone in a perfectly normal-looking flat. It seemed like he'd acted alone. They'd had Magitech experts look at his phone and computer, and they couldn't find any evidence of an accomplice. 

So far they'd found no connection between him and the magical world, either - he wasn't a squib, he didn't have Muggleborn relatives, he didn't live close to the wizarding district. No one from the incident recognised his face and there were no traces of magic or magical items in his house.  
Unfortunately by the time they'd found the photos tucked under his seat, Bright had already been carted off to the morgue by the Muggle first responders. Once they'd finally been able to send a Healer Liaison in to test him for magical residue, the crucial six hour window had passed, so it was impossible to tell if he'd been coerced in some way. The only lead was the fact that his house contained more of the same photos of the people who had been on the bus trip - the people who he'd slammed his vehicle into with, it seemed now, the intent to kill. 

Harry looked over the crime scene images from the house and van in the case file in front of him. They panned slowly, zooming in on key elements, then back out. The photographs Bright had stuck up on the walls of his house were all static, indicating he'd likely taken them himself. The thought of him stalking witches and wizards as they went about their daily lives was chilling. All of the images they'd found were from locations within Muggle London.

One of the well known Muggle primary schools featured in a number of Bright's photos. Harry had since found out that some of the more progressive members of the Society had been sending their children there. There were also pictures from one or two restaurants that the Magical-Muggle Education trips had visited, which certain members had been taken with and now made regular visits to. It was looking more and more like a targeted attack. The question that mattered though - the only one they couldn't answer - was _why_?

'Auror Potter,' Mrs. Norris' voice interrupted Harry's thoughts, and he glanced up at her. 'Mr. Malfoy has arrived.'  
Harry shuffled the photos and reports into a loose pile, putting them to one side. He rubbed his eyes again, feeling a headache building behind them. He had so much swirling through his mind - was being pulled in so many directions - that keeping his focus on his work was taking its toll.  
'Send him in,' he said, trying to inject some energy into his voice and hoping this visit would net him some answers. He looked past his assistant and just caught sight of Malfoy near her desk, half-turned away from the door, as though he'd been pacing. He appeared to be … having an argument with himself. As Harry watched, Malfoy set his shoulders, took a deep breath and turned, no sign of whatever existential crisis he'd just been going through on his face.

Harry had to bite back a grin as Malfoy stalked in a moment later, pulling a glower onto his face, brandishing a copy of the _Prophet_.  
'Have you seen today's rubbish?' he demanded, throwing it down on Harry's desk. Harry took in Malfoy's appearance - his brows were drawn down in a scowl and his face was slightly flushed. His hair looked tousled, as though he'd been running his hands through it. Harry suddenly wondered if that was the appearance Malfoy had meant to reveal.  
'Well?' Malfoy said, gesturing impatiently, and Harry blinked, looking away and down at the paper on his desk.

The headline blared up at him. _Vicious Muggle Attack the First of Many?_ He glanced at the by line, saw Rita Skeeter's name and groaned in frustration, shoving the paper away and feeling his headache throb. Despite their best intentions, the _Prophet_ had got wind of the connection to the images and was having a field day.

Harry had been initially aghast at the way the paper was inciting anti-Muggle feelings, but he was hopeful that people would know better than to be taken in by such hype. Surely their own personal experience would trump the scaremongering the paper was putting out.

'What are you doing about it?' Malfoy demanded, dropping into a chair and waving his hand at the paper. 'This kind of rhetoric is dangerous. It has the potential to break down all the education, tolerance-building and reforms we've been working on for years.'  
Harry shook his head, slumping back into his seat. Malfoy had owled him the day before with the exact same demand, which was why Harry had invited him in. If anyone could think of a reason the Society might be targeted, it would be Malfoy.

'There's nothing I can do about the paper,' he said wearily. 'Never has been.'  
Malfoy snorted lightly, glancing at him for a moment and Harry smiled wryly, thinking they were both remembering some of the more outrageous stories the _Prophet_ had printed about Harry over the years.  
'The Minister has his communications team on it,' he continued. 'They're trying their best to reign Skeeter in, or at least bring what's being published closer to truth than mass hysteria, but …' He shrugged, waving a hand at the paper, the image of the bus crash, distraught people standing in shock, Police, Aurors Paramedics and Healers crawling all over it.  
'I wish they'd stop using that damned image,' he frowned. 'It's disrespectful.' Then he looked at Malfoy again. 'Do you know how they are?'

Malfoy nodded, smoothing his hands down his robes, seeming to calm himself. 'I visited this morning. The Abbott twins are out. They were released yesterday. Little Josephine Bulstrode is still in until the end of the week, but she's expected to make a full recovery. Geraldine Shafiq is still in a critical condition. She took the brunt of the hit. It was right on her window, and she broke most of the bones in her right side, lost a lot of blood too.'  
Harry nodded, he'd seen the Healers' reports. Jones had reviewed them as a part of piecing together the crime scene. Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, sadness clouding his face. 'They're saying she might lose a leg. Did you see her at the ball? She had that exquisite emerald dress on? She _floated_ around the room.'

He seemed to gather himself, sitting up straighter, eyes meeting Harry's for a moment before dropping to the folder at his elbow. 'What's the progress on the case? Have you figured out why this happened?'  
Harry smiled despite himself at Malfoy's casual assumption that he should be fully briefed.

'I can't discuss an ongoing investigation with you,' he said. Malfoy opened his mouth to object, so Harry continued speaking. 'But I did ask you to come in today to canvas ideas about why you think the attack might have occurred. We have a strong suspicion that the Pureblood Society was deliberately targeted and that the attacker had been planning his activities for some time.'  
Malfoy scowled at him. 'Well that's a bloody obvious suspicion, Potter. The lunatic had pictures of those children all through his house. _Clearly_ he was targeting them.'

Then he paused, frowning, looking uncertain for the first time. 'Is it true what the papers are saying, some of the pictures the attacker had are from St Joseph's Preparatory? '  
Harry suddenly remembered seeing Scorpius Malfoy on the list of pureblood children who attended the Muggle school. He'd noted it at the time, but had forgotten it just as quickly. With everything going on, he had the sinking feeling that he was missing key facts, not drawing parallels he normally would with ease.

'There were, but we didn’t find any pictures of your son,' he said quickly, wanting to reassure Malfoy. He noted the way Malfoy's eyes closed briefly and his shoulders slumped in relief. He couldn’t imagine how it would feel to have that sort of threat against your child hanging over your head.  
'Do you know why the attack might have happened?' he asked again, tone gentler than before. 'Can you think of any credible reason for a Muggle to want to attack a group of witches and wizards who were trying to promote learning and understanding of other Muggles?' 

Harry hesitated, glancing down at his file and then continued. 'A Muggle who has no identifiable connection to the wizarding world.'  
Malfoy's head jerked up and he narrowed his eyes. 'He's not a squib? Not the jilted brother of a Muggleborn wizard who got his Hogwarts letter?'  
Harry shook his head and Malfoy frowned, looking at his hands.

It was a long moment before he spoke, his voice slow as he considered. 'The best person for you to talk to about Muggles would be Daphne Greengrass. She's the one who coordinates the Muggle Liaison component of the excursions. She would have all the contacts for the Muggles they deal with to organise the trips, to know if there had been any sort of incident on one or something.'  
Harry noted down the name, jogging a faint memory.  
'Isn't that -' Then he realised where the memory had come from and cut himself off.

Pain flashed across Malfoy's face for the briefest second, so quick Harry would have missed it if he hadn’t already been looking into the man's face.  
'My sister-in-law, yes,' Malfoy said softly, glancing up. 'I can ask her to come by, if you like.'  
Harry nodded in response as he cursed himself internally. He'd forgotten Hermione had told him Malfoy's wife had passed away, after he'd shared how shocked he'd been to learn Malfoy had a son.  
He was surprised to feel a flash of empathy for the man. Harry was leaving his wife, separating from her by choice. Malfoy … he'd had no choice, and her loss clearly still pained him.

'You're sure there's no magical connection?' Malfoy queried, plainly wanting to change the subject.  
Harry shrugged. 'If there is, we haven’t found it yet. We're not ruling anything out, but …' He spread his hands as if to say it was unlikely.  
Malfoy cocked his head to one side, considering. 'Strange. Daphne's never mentioned anything that happened on a trip that could be remotely significant enough to cause one of the Muggles they deal with to want to attack the group. If it had come from a wizard, I could almost believe it.'  
'What makes you say that?' Harry asked, surprised by the words, he'd have thought it would be the opposite, with Malfoy.

Malfoy's lip curled. 'There are some Purebloods - mostly the older generation - who are still against what we're trying to achieve with the Society. They think it's destroying the tradition - sullying the purity of the sacred twenty-eight.' He snorted and Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised further by the response. 'As if we're not all inbred within an inch of our lives. If anything has sullied our purity, it's our inability to look outside our own families for partners, or for original thoughts for that matter.'  
Harry couldn't help the huff of laughter that came at these words - at the fact that it was Malfoy saying them. He winced and rubbed at his temples as his headache throbbed in response.  
'What?' Malfoy said, looking over at him with a faint smirk. 'Don't even try and say you don't agree.'

Harry shook his head. 'No, I do,' he said. 'I think you're all terribly inbred and your traditions are bloody ridiculous. I'm just surprised to hear _you_ say that.'  
Malfoy shrugged, the smile still lingering on his face. 'Amazing what being forced to do things you despise in the name of "blood purity" can do to broaden your views.'

'I wouldn't know,' Harry said quietly.  
Malfoy's smile faded and he looked away. 'Indeed,' he said. 'Anyway, the point I was making is that there are some within the wizarding world who would like to see the Society fail. Would even like, I believe, to see some of its more Muggle-friendly members taught a lesson … but for this attack to have come from a Muggle with no connection to magic whatsoever …' He shrugged, clearly at a loss.

Harry nodded, trying to draw his professionalism back around him. He and Malfoy had a shared past, a bad one. Fine. It wasn't pertinent to why the man was here today and making veiled references to it did neither of them any good. 'Like I said, at the moment, there's nothing pointing to a magical connection, but we need to follow every possible lead. Can you get me a list of names of anyone you think might be against the aims of the Society?'  
Harry looked down at the few notes he'd written, mind clicking over what more he might need, frustrated by how foggy he still felt. 'That's probably all we need from you for now,' he said, dropping his quill to the desk and looking across at Malfoy. 'You'll stay contactable?'  
'For you?' Malfoy said, the ghost of a smirk back again. 'Always.'  
Harry rolled his eyes and Malfoy stood. 'I'll have the list to you by the end of the day.'  
Harry stood as well. 'Thank you,' he said, earnestly. 'I appreciate your cooperation.'

Malfoy nodded then hesitated, looking at Harry fully, holding his gaze properly for the first time since he'd entered the office. 'How are you holding up?' he asked, as though he wasn't sure how his question would be received. 'You look … tired.'

Harry was surprised at the hint of concern he heard in Malfoy's voice. He wondered how to answer the question. He had a million things pulling him in different directions right now, only one of which was this case. He'd been doing his best all week to keep his head in his work, but today had proven the most difficult so far. If it wasn't thoughts of what Ginny had told him and the argument that had followed, it was memories of Ladon's touch and the ecstasy of what they'd done, mixed with the terrible certainty that it would never happen again.  
'I'm okay,' he said slowly. 'I have … there's a lot going on right now. But I'm okay.'  
Malfoy nodded, eyes lingering on him.

'You're taking time off? For Christmas? New Years?' he asked.  
Harry felt a pang at the mention of Christmas. He winced. He needed to talk to Ginny. He hadn't seen her since their fight and her response to his owl had been short. She was coming over on Saturday.  
He thought about Christmas again. He'd spent it at the Burrow since he was at school. This year - he couldn't imagine he'd be welcome. Didn’t know if he wanted to go. He realised he hadn't answered Malfoy's question and shook his head.  
'No, I'm not taking time off. Things are … are a bit up in the air at the moment. I think I'll play it by ear.'  
Malfoy nodded, as though he'd just had something confirmed, but he didn't press further. Harry wondered at it, hadn't known Malfoy had it in him to be considerate.

'There's a Society New Years party on,' Malfoy said instead. 'If you're so inclined.' He seemed slightly on edge as he said the words, not quite meeting Harry's eye. 'It's at the Sky Garden, on Fenchurch Street.'  
Harry looked at him, surprised by the invitation. Malfoy's cheeks coloured slightly. 'We could do with more Auror eyes around,' he said, and Harry realised Malfoy was seeking reassurance, but couldn't bring himself to ask.  
'We're almost positive the bus attacker acted alone,' he said. 'I know I asked you to give me those names, but we've found no sign of any connection with accomplices or communication with outside sources about the attack. There's no reason for the Society to worry - the _Prophet_ is doing enough of that for all of us.' He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

Malfoy's return smile didn't quite reach his eyes. 'Good news,' he said as he turned to leave. 'Good to hear. I'll send the list through this afternoon, Potter.'  
'Appreciate it,' Harry said to his retreating back. Then Malfoy was out the door and gone. And Harry was left with the feeling he'd missed something particularly important.

\-----

Harry was in the shed when Ginny arrived on Saturday. He had the morning off before he headed in for a night shift. They'd made no further progress on the case, despite having sent investigators to Bright's workplace - he was a lorry driver, singularly unhelpful - and having tracked down friends and family members. All they'd been able to get was that he tended to keep to himself, and no one had any idea he'd been planning something so horrific. The Muggle Police were conducting their own less-strenuous investigation, checking CCTV and tracking Bright's movements in the past week, but the Muggle Law Liaison Officer had reported they'd turned up nothing of use either. In the absence of the removed photographs, they were close to ruling it an accident.

Harry turned his thoughts back to what he was doing. The Repair Manual he'd ordered from the Muggle bookshop near the Ministry had arrived the day before and he was sitting on the workbench, the bike uncovered before him, flipping thought it, trying to get his head around the unfamiliar terminology. At least the thing wasn't still filthy with crusty pond water and twelve-year-old mud. The first thing he'd done on uncovering it again was to give it a detailed clean, by hand, rather than a _Scourgify_. There were still buttons and knobs on it that Arthur had installed for Hagrid's trip to collect him from Privet Drive when he'd turned seventeen. Harry had no idea how some of those might react with magic. He remembered flames shooting out of the thing and had no interest in having that happen out in the back shed.

He thought the first step might be to uninstall the weapons, before he got to work on the mechanics.  
He was still pondering the best way to do so without blowing himself up when he heard a sound at the door. He looked up to see Ginny standing there. She was wearing jeans and the yellow cashmere jumper he'd gotten her years ago for her birthday. She seemed tired, and he wondered if she wasn't sleeping well either. She met his eyes hesitantly, as though she was unsure whether he was about to yell again.

He gave her a small smile, feeling unsure in turn - awkward. How were they supposed to react to each other now? 'Hey, thanks for coming.'  
She glanced at the bike, and then back at him, then nodded. 'I wanted to get a few things,' she said, her uncertainty evident in her tone.  
Harry winced and slipped off the bench. 'Listen, Gin, I'm sorry,' he said, facing her. 'I shouldn't have - have reacted that way, the other day. It's just - it was a lot to take in.'

He took a step towards her, taking a deep breath, thinking of all the things he'd been considering in the last few days. 'But you were right. You do deserve to be happy and to be wanted, and I know you aren't getting that from me.' He felt sadness well in him, and realised that his anger at the situation was gone. He wondered how much of that was due to having time to think through what Ginny had said, and how much was Ladon taking him to pieces - allowing him to let go of it. 'I'm sorry I haven't been able to give that to you.'

Ginny nodded, the wariness slipping off her face. 'It's not your fault, Harry. Really. I should have told you when things first changed. And you haven't been happy either,' she said.  
Harry nodded. 'I - I think you're right,' he said. 'There are some changes I want to make too.' An image of Ladon's face as he'd told Harry he couldn't see him outside of the club flashed into his mind for a moment and he felt the ache of hurt again. He shook it off.  
Ginny was watching him curiously. He could see the question in her eyes, knew that she wanted to ask him about the man he'd kissed, about whether there was something more to it. He didn't want to talk to her about Ladon. Couldn't

'Do you want a cuppa?' he asked instead. Ginny considered him for a moment longer, but then she nodded and they walked back to the house in silence.  
Harry got her mug off the shelf and they watched each other without saying much while the kettle boiled.  
Harry made her tea, the way he had a million times before, and then took a seat opposite her.

'It's over, isn't it?' he said at last.  
Ginny looked sad, but she nodded.  
'What now?' Harry asked.  
Ginny shrugged. 'I need to tell Mum and Dad. They should know first. Do you want to tell Ron?'  
Harry nodded, a thought coming to him. He hesitated, then said. 'I'd like to come too, if that's okay. When you talk to them. You shouldn't have to do that alone.'  
Ginny gave him a small smile. 'That sounds good. Thank you. I was thinking of going tomorrow. Christmas is Monday and, well … we can't pretend through that.'

Harry nodded and they sat quietly again, sipping their tea. Harry wondered at how amicable it all was. How calm. He wondered how long ago they'd both said goodbye to their marriage. 

He looked at Ginny, opposite him in the kitchen they'd shared for the last ten years. He remembered a hundred lazy weekend breakfasts, romantic candlelit dinners, celebrating success and sadness as each of them moved jobs, got accolades … were told children wouldn't be a part of their life. There was so much between them - so many memories.  
'What will it be like, after?' he asked softly.  
Ginny looked back at him and her eyes were full of feeling. He wondered if she was having some of the same thoughts as him.  
'I guess we'll have to see,' she said at last. 'I don't want to fight - to be bitter.'  
'I don't either,' Harry said, then something he'd been meaning to ask occurred to him.

'Where are you staying?'  
Ginny's gaze sharpened and Harry suddenly realised how the question had come across. He backpedaled. 'I mean - I didn't want to pry. I just wanted to make sure you have somewhere.'  
Ginny relaxed again. 'I'm staying with Liz, from the team, just for a few weeks. I'll probably look for something after New Years. I -' she hesitated. 'Aiden and I have talked, and we want to take things slowly … just so you know.'

Harry's eyes widened with surprise. Aiden. He felt an unexpected spark of jealousy twist through him at her mention of the man she was leaving him for. He chased the feeling for a moment. He’d thought he’d come to terms with it over the last few days - thought he wanted Ginny to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him … then he frowned, considering it further. Or was he jealous because she got to have something he didn’t? She got to have someone who wanted her … someone who had conversations with her about the future? He shook his head, trying to shake off the unwanted thought. He’d been trying not to dwell on Ladon - on the look on his face when he said they could never do that again.

He turned his mind to the other thoughts that had been occupying him for the past few days. 'The papers are going to have a field day with this,' he sighed.  
Ginny nodded. 'One of the reasons we're going to take it slowly,' she said.  
Harry felt the weight of that. 'I'm sorry, for what it's worth,' he said. 'We could do some sort of joint statement or something …'  
He trailed off at the resigned look on her face. 'You know there's no point. They'll write what they write and …' She shrugged. 'You'd think I'd be used to it, after all these years, wouldn't you?'  
Harry felt the weight of his past pressing heavily on him. Why couldn't they all just leave him be? Why did everyone have to have a piece of him?

He sighed and shook his head to clear it. Then he came back to his original thought, to the idea that Ginny had left, while he'd stayed here. 'We didn't - we haven't talked about the house. You shouldn't have to be the one to leave. It's our house, together. If you want, we can figure out some -'  
Ginny shook her head immediately. 'It's fine, Harry. I thought about that, and Grimmauld Place has always been yours. You have more of a claim to it than I do. I think - a fresh start is probably what I'm after.'  
She looked around the kitchen and sighed. 'It would be hard - to live here still, surrounded by … everything.'

Harry looked around as well, and it struck him for the first time that Ginny would take her things, that she would be gone. For good. And he would be left. She would be one more person to move on from the house, while Harry stayed behind, surrounded by the ghosts of those who had come before.  
He shivered at the thought and finished his tea in one big swallow before he stood up, suddenly anxious to be doing something, even if it brought about that end more quickly. 'I could help, if you want? With the packing?'  
Ginny pushed her half-finished cup aside and nodded. 'That - that would be good. Thanks.'

They spent most of the day together, going over the house, pulling things out of nooks and crannies, shrinking them down and packing them away. It was amazing just how _much_ stuff there was. The training room was the first and the easiest. It was full of Ginny's gear - brooms, weights, old pieces of kit. Her trophies were in there as well as images from various winning matches and presentation nights. Harry had stopped coming in here a long time ago. It was Ginny's room - her private space, the way the cluttered downstairs office was his.

Now he stood in the middle of the room and just looked, taking in the sight of her success, each photo of her spinning and diving bringing back a memory of watching her compete, or the international holiday they'd teamed the game with, or the way she just never, ever gave up until she was the best there was.  
Harry took in the highest points of Ginny's life, surrounded by the familiar smell of leather that he thought he probably would always associate with her. 

Then his eye caught on a photo by the window, and he took a step closer, his heart twisting painfully as it came into focus. It was of the two of them, taken after he'd just turned twenty - a few months before he'd proposed. He remembered it - a _Prophet_ reporter had captured the moment, back in the days when they used to dog his every move.  
He was lying on the grass, calling out occasional encouragement and watching as Ginny demonstrated the new things she'd been learning. Then out of nowhere, she'd dived at him, leaping off her broom a few metres above the ground, tucking and rolling with ease. She'd fallen into his arms, laughing and they'd kissed, and Harry had thought his heart would burst. That was the moment he'd decided he was going to ask her to marry him - the moment he realised he couldn’t live without this crazy, beautiful, brave woman in his life. 

He felt an ache in his chest at how wrong it had all gone … at how he'd somehow stopped seeing that woman. He looked around the room, realising that she'd never stopped being that person, never stopped shining. Harry looked around at the measures of Ginny's success, and felt his chest fill with a bittersweet warmth.  
'You're going to be amazing,' he said, turning to her, a sense of certainty and hopefulness rising in him. 'Whatever you do next - whoever with. You're going to keep being amazing.'

Ginny paused, glancing up at him with surprise, her hands on a set of old Quidditch magazines she was Vanishing. Then she stood and crossed the room to him. He opened his arms and she stepped into them, resting her head against his chest.  
Harry bent his head to rest his cheek against her fiery curls and she tightened her arms around him. It felt like home. It felt like goodbye.

'I don't regret what we had,' Ginny said, voice slightly muffled against his shirt.  
Harry felt a tightness in his throat at even the thought that she might regret it. He held her and remembered the woman he'd fallen in love with so long ago - the woman who had been a shining light in the darkness that surrounded him. 'I don't either, Gin.'  
He sighed, pressing a kiss to her hair, wondering when his need for that light had changed. 'I guess we're just not who we were back then,' he said softly.

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with eyes that shone with unshed tears but with a teasing smile on her face.  
'What? Young, fit and funny?' she said, clearly trying to lighten the melancholy that had entered the room.  
Harry made a face of mock outrage, pushing away the sadness. 'Speak for yourself,' he said. 'I've been told I'm very funny.'  
She arched an eyebrow at him, sniffing slightly. 'By who?'  
'Teddy!' he said emphatically.  
Ginny pushed him away gently and moved back towards the pile she'd been sorting. 'Taking advice from a twelve year old. That's your problem, right there,' she said. Then she smiled softly and turned back to her work.

\-----

Harry woke early on Christmas Day to Hugo's fingers poking him in the face. They were sticky and Harry groaned, cracking open his eyes. He'd stayed up late the night before, talking with Ron and Hermione, but clearly children on Christmas could not be dissuaded. He rubbed his hand over his face and reached for his glasses on the bedside table.

He caught a blur of movement and then there were thudding footsteps down the hall. A moment later Harry heard Rose shout, 'He's awake now! Can we have presents? He's awake!'  
He smiled and pushed the covers back, sitting up and stretching before picking Hugo up.  
'Santa!' Hugo said, and Harry smiled and kissed him on the cheek, tasting a hint of blackberry jam as he licked his now-sticky lips.

He hoisted Hugo onto his hip, bending over to pick up the jeans he'd dropped to the floor the night before. He pulled them on, hopping on one leg and making Hugo giggle. He blew a raspberry on the boy's cheek and Hugo laughed louder, clasping Harry's face in chubby hands to return the favour with a wet, open-mouthed slobber.  
Harry laughed and wiped his face with his arm before doing up his button in an awkward single-handed grip and heading down the stairs.  
'Sorry,' Hermione said with a rueful expression, as he came into the living room. 'We tried to keep them out for as long as possible.'

'It's fine,' he said, dropping into the couch and arranging Hugo on his lap. 'I'm crashing your Christmas, the least I could do is be awake for it.'  
'Harry,' Hermione chided, 'we told you last night, you're a part of this family. We're happy you're here -'  
'He knows, 'Mione,' Ron said, walking into the lounge, hovering three cups of tea and a wet flannel in front of him. 'He's just stirring you up.'  
Harry grinned and winked at Ron, taking his cup and the cloth from the air and taking a sip as he turned his expression on Hermione. She rolled her eyes at him from where she sat on the floor by the tree. Harry remembered their conversation the night before. Sadness, understanding, compassion. He felt emotion well up in him again. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve friends like these two.

Rose interrupted them to say, ' _Now_ can we _please_ open presents?'  
Ron looked at her fondly. 'Course you can, love. Just remember to say thank you to Santa.'  
Rose's face lit up and she pulled the biggest, glitteriest package to herself with a smile. Hermione passed one up to Harry, and he wiped Hugo down before helping the boy to tear a small strip in the side of the paper so he could get into his present more easily.

As he watched the children opening their gifts - Hugo gravitating to the floor to play with his new Niffler plushie - he realised, belatedly, that he hadn't got them anything. There had been a few presents, wrapped in a pile in the corner of the living room, but Ginny had taken them with her. He didn't even know who they'd been for. She usually organised that sort of thing - gifts, remembering events, birthdays and the like. It hadn't even occurred to him to bring any Christmas presents with him when he'd come over the night before for a drink and to break the news about him and Ginny separating.  
He wondered what else he wouldn't realise Ginny had been doing until he had to start doing it himself.

'Well,' Hermione said, breaking him out of his reviere. She stood up and spelled all the paper and packaging into a pile, before vanishing it. 'We'd better get ready if we're going to be at the Burrow in time for lunch.'  
She looked over at Harry, concern on her face. 'Are you sure you won't come?'  
Ron stepped closer as well. 'You told us what mum and dad said. You're a part of the family, you know that. Everyone will still want you there.'

Harry smiled at them both, feeling his chest tighten with emotion. 'I know. I do want to be there … but just not this year, okay? It just - I need to do something different this year.'  
Hermione nodded. 'You will do something, though, won't you Harry? You won't just sit at home by yourself?'  
He thought about it for a second. 'I might see what Andromeda and Teddy are doing, actually,' he mused.  
Hermione smiled. 'That sounds great. I'm sure they'd love to see you. Use our owl if you want.'

The response came back quickly.  
_Merry Christmas to you as well, Harry. Lovely to hear from you. We would be very pleased to have you over._  
_Draco and Scorpius are coming for lunch and you're most welcome to join us. We'll be home all day if you already have lunch plans._  
_Yours,_  
_Andromeda_

Harry considered the note - considered the thought of spending Christmas lunch with Malfoy, of all people. Sure, they'd run into each other a bit lately. Had even started talking, in a reasonably civil manner. But to spend Christmas with him? 

He owled Andromeda back.

_I have lunch plans, but would love to see you both later today. I'll bring something for dinner._  
_Harry_

\-----

Harry barely had time to think in the days that followed. He'd offered to work through the holiday period this year, covering cases and tasks his team leaders normally took on. It was the least he could do to give the people who had families to spend time with a chance to get away from the office.  
He was reviewing the case board for the Bright crash when Ron came in. They still hadn't figured out why he'd done it, but they were confident it was an isolated attack. The _Prophet_ hype had started to die down as well with no further incidents, and no group stepping forward to claim responsibility.

'Hey mate,' Ron said, clapping him on the back and stepping forward to peer at the board. 'Nothing new?'  
Ron had dropped out of the Auror program post-graduation, and somehow the Department had never got around to revoking his access. He often stopped by to chat and cast his eye over some case or other. Harry privately thought he would make a great investigator, and sometimes he thought Ron's visits had less to do with him and more to do with the idea that, just for a moment, he could be a part of this life.  
But then Ron would tell him about the first book Rose had read by herself, or the way Hugo had almost chased the ducks into the pond and his whole body would _glow_ and Harry would be reminded that no matter how much other things called, supporting his family came first for Ron. Always.

Harry shook his head and sighed. 'Nope. We just can't figure this bloke out. It seems completely random.' He eyed Ron sideways, turning away from the board. 'What are you doing here, anyway? Did I miss a lunch or something?'  
Ron shook his head, 'Nah, Hermione's got the next couple of days off. She's taken the kids to the market. Just thought I'd come to check up on you.'  
Harry rolled his eyes. 'Tell 'Mione I'm fine. I'm not working myself to death and I'm remembering to eat.'  
Ron laughed. 'Will do, but I wanted to see if you were coming out tomorrow night as well.'

Harry considered it for a moment. New Years was usually the same thing - a group of old friends from school, new partners, workmates and travel buddies from over the years. Most of them tried not to do something big and flashy to ring in the New Year - they tried to return back to their roots. Normally Harry loved it; it felt like one big extended family.

He shrugged, he'd been thinking about it the last day or so. 'I dunno. I don't really feel like hanging out with everyone, and I don’t want Ginny to feel like she can't, if she wants to. I guess most of them would know by now, so we wouldn't have to hide it, but I don't want the awkward looks and …' Harry realised he was babbling and stopped, shrugging again.  
Ron gave him a commiserating smile. 'Yeah, fair enough. I mean, Hannah's lovely, but she nearly smothered Luna after her and Rolf split, and Luna wasn't even that upset.'  
He considered Harry for a moment. 'We could stay home. Have a quiet one, just us three?'

Harry thought about it, sorely tempted. But Ron and Hermione hardly ever got to go out together, and they would have already made arrangements for the kids.  
Harry shook his head, curving his lips into a smile. 'No way. You two are going to go out and have a blast. I'll send my Patronus to give you a kiss when the clock strikes twelve, okay?'  
'You're sure? I don't mind, really,' Ron said, giving him a smile.  
Harry nodded. 'It's fine. I have an idea of something else I might want to do anyway,' he lied.

Ron hesitated, looking awkward, then asked, 'Are you going to see him? Samael?'  
Harry shook his head, thinking of how he'd left things with Ladon almost two weeks earlier. He hadn't been back yet. He had some pride. And he wasn't sure how different it would be between them, hadn't wanted to experience that yet.  
'No, that's not - we're not seeing each other. It's not a relationship,' he said. _But I want it to be_ , his mind whispered.

\----

Harry worked a morning shift on New Years Day, clocking off at lunchtime and going home for a nap. When he woke up late that afternoon, he thought he'd have a go at working on the bike. He'd managed to figure out that if he removed the exhaust, most of the particularly dangerous magic would go with it. So he'd sourced himself a set of spanners and was proceeding to do just that. It was a fiddly job and soon his mind was wandering as he worked. He wondered idly whether he should do anything for the night. 

It was strange being alone at Grimmauld Place, night after night. Ginny had taken the rest of her things not long after Christmas, and the house felt disproportionately empty. He wondered if this was how Sirius had felt, knocking around the big old house by himself. It was enough to drive anyone a bit batty, and he was allowed to leave whenever he wanted.  
Harry threw down his spanner, frustrated at himself, the thought sticking in his mind. He could leave. He could do what he wanted. He had no reason to be hiding away in here for the night.

New Years was for new beginnings, wasn't it? If he wanted to actually start living and doing what he wanted, maybe he should get out for the night. Do something different. Something fun.  
He abruptly remembered Malfoy's offer of a party somewhere. The gardens … Muggle place. Sky Gardens.  
The idea was just different enough to be interesting. It was only nine o'clock. At the very least he could have a look around and get a drink, and if the night was boring, he could come back here and keep going on the bike. No harm done.

Deciding he'd go and feeling strangely energised about it, he went upstairs to shower and change. The room he'd shared with Ginny still didn't seem right. It wasn't just that half the closet was empty … the room itself felt empty, as though it was used to having two people share the space.  
Harry put the thought out of his mind and got into the shower.

Afterwards, he stood in front of the mirror, towel wrapped around his hips. He combed his fingers through his still-damp hair, then twisted it into a reasonably neat bun at the back of his head. Then he leaned closer to the mirror and ran his fingers a hair's breadth above his cheeks, the shaving charm scraping lightly over his skin as he did so. He'd let his beard grow in the last few weeks and it was longer than he normally liked it. He trimmed it shorter all over then cut it off his neck and down from his cheeks, so it hugged his jawline and framed his mouth. He took particular care around the part where his scar dipped down his cheekbone and into the top of his beard.  
When he was done he turned his head from side to side, considering it. The shave made him look sharp … less tired anyway. Then he rolled his eyes at himself in the mirror, wondering why it mattered.

He stood in front of his closet in just his underwear, wondering what to wear. It was a Muggle place, so he didn't have to worry about robes. And if Malfoy had had anything to do with it, it'd be flash as fuck. He settled on a pair of charcoal trousers and dress shoes, a deep green button-up shirt that Ginny had always told him set off his eyes, and the waistcoat that matched his trousers. He left the tie off, opening the neck, running his fingers over the thin band there, letting its presence sooth him in the strange way it did. Then he headed downstairs for his coat and to find out where the bloody hell the nearest Apparition point to Fenchurch Street was.

He was glad he'd dressed up when he stepped out of the lift and into the room. It was a breathtaking sight, a wall of massive glass windows, looking out at the London skyline from high in the air. The city was lit up, twinkling brightly in the darkness. Even the ceiling was glass. He looked up, reminded of the ceiling of the Great Hall at Hogwarts and feeling a sense of comforting familiarity wash over him. He wondered if that was why they had chosen the place. He realised immediately why it was called the Sky Garden - the room was alive with an abundance of greenery, ferns, grasses and flowers flowing over each other. It was a charming sight. 

He looked at the rest of the room, taking in the eighty or ninety people circulating, some sitting at the high bar tables, some taking in the view and a few dancing to music Harry didn't recognise. Muggle music, by the sounds of it. He shook his head - purebloods dancing to Muggle music. Wonders would never cease.  
Then he caught sight of Malfoy a few metres away, drink in hand, talking to a couple at a table near the door and he sucked in his breath. The costume Malfoy had worn at the Solstice Ball had been one thing, _this_ was quite something else. 

Malfoy wore a sharp-looking dark grey three-piece suit that looked like it was more expensive than Harry's whole wardrobe. The jacket was unbuttoned and his waistcoat hugged his body, emphasising his slim waist and flat stomach. Harry suddenly understood what people meant when they said the colour of a shirt set off someone's eyes. The light blue of his shirt made his eyes shine, even from this distance, as he glanced up to meet Harry's regard.  
Malfoy had cut his hair since Harry had seen him the week before. It was shaved close to his head on the sides and back, left longer, messy and artfully tousled on top. It made him look … stylish. _Sexy,_ his mind supplied.

The lines of his body reminded Harry of another lithe, strong form, but he pushed the thought of Ladon away. He didn’t want to dwell on that. He was here tonight to do something different. Something fun. He hoped.  
'Potter,' Malfoy said, drawing closer, his eyes sliding up Harry's body in an appraisal he didn’t try to hide. Harry reddened slightly under the look, feeling strangely flustered. Malfoy wasn't into blokes, was he? He'd been married to a woman. _So were you_ , his inner voice said dryly. Harry flushed further. Who Malfoy was into made no difference. It was _Malfoy_ , for fuck's sake.

'Malfoy,' he said in return.  
'Happy New Year,' Malfoy said, a strangely pleased smile hovering around his mouth.  
Harry smiled back, 'To you as well.'  
Malfoy considered him a moment longer, the smile still on his lips, then he gestured around the room. 'Coat check is over there. Drinks at the bar, food will be circulating. I'm assuming we'll see you on the dancefloor?' he asked, grin deepening.  
Harry rolled his eyes. 'I'd need to have a whole bunch of those drinks before that happened,' he said.  
Malfoy shrugged, a look in his eyes Harry couldn't read, 'The night is still young. You've always been the competitive sort. Maybe you could catch up to me,' he murmured, tilting his head back to finish the last mouthful of his wine. Harry's eyes were drawn to the smooth expanse of his pale throat. Then he blinked and caught himself as Malfoy spied someone over Harry's shoulder and moved on with a quick, 'Excuse me.'

Harry made his way through the room, dropping his jacket at the coat check and thanking the Muggle woman there, then rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. It was warm in the room. He collected a glass of Edradour Ballachin from the bar, not surprised this place was stocked with the expensive stuff, then strolled over to look out the window, gazing at the city below. It was breathtaking from up this high, seeming almost motionless, distant lights twinkling in the darkness.  
He turned as a voice behind him said his name in a tone of surprise.  
The face that met his was one he hadn't seen in _years_ and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.  
'Zabini,' he said in return, shaking the proffered hand almost automatically.

Blaise Zabini was the very epitome of suave sophistication, from his tailored suit to his easy smile.  
'Harry Potter is probably the last person I would have expected to see here tonight,' Zabini said with another smile, releasing Harry's hand.  
'Same for you,' Harry returned, unsure how to respond. He took a sip of his drink as he considered. 'I didn't realize you were a part of all this,' he said at last, waving his hand to indicate the room.  
'You know me,' Zabini said, 'Where there's money and power…' he lifted an elegant shoulder in a shrug as he let the sentence trail off. Then he looked more closely at Harry. 'And you, what brings you here? Where's that gorgeous wife of yours?'

Harry was taken aback for a moment at the familiarity of the comment, but then, looking at Zabini, he thought maybe that was just the way he was now - one of those people that dripped thoughtless compliments like they were currency, buying their way into any conversation.  
Then he considered the question and how best to answer it. His real reasons, his impending divorce, his need for something new, the way he'd been rocketing from one thing to another for what felt like months now … those were things he had no interest in sharing with a former schoolmate who'd been on the other side of a war.

He shrugged his shoulder, imitating Zabini's pose a moment ago. The quick quirk of Zabini's mouth told Harry he'd caught the faint mockery.  
'Malfoy asked me to come,' Harry said instead. 'Extra security, in light of what happened a few weeks ago.'  
Zabini's gaze sharpened at that, in a way that put Harry slightly on edge.  
' _Malfoy_ invited you? How interesting,' he murmured. 'Well I'm sure there are others in the room you wish to converse with far more than me,' he said, tipping his glass towards Harry's slightly.  
'It was nice to see you again, Harry,' he said with another of those smiles. Then he turned and moved back into the crowd. 

Harry watched him go for a moment, then he turned back to the view, watching the city unfold below him as he sipped his drink. That had been … strange. Almost as if Zabini had information Harry didn't. He found his mind returning to the case with that thought, trying to puzzle through it. They were missing something obvious. Something big. He could feel it. He turned to survey the room again, leaning against the glass panel, watching the guests circle. He knew most of them, by sight and reputation, if not personally. He thought idly about the list of names Malfoy had given him, of people who had cause to want to disrupt the Society's aims. There had been half a dozen on there. None of them were present tonight.

He caught sight of Zabini again. He was at the bar now, bending his head to talk to an elegant woman in a sweeping black dress, her hair cut into a neat bob. With a start of surprise, he recognised Pansy Parkinson. At that moment, she turned, eyes scanning over the crowded room. Her gaze snagged on Harry and her eyes widened then she looked away, waving a hand in the air as she said something else to Zabini. Harry snorted at the irony of dodging a party of his old school friends only to attend one filled with his old school enemies.

As he thought that, his eye caught on Malfoy and he watched him for a moment, impressed again by the ease with which he worked the room. He seemed to be totally in his element. Harry wondered how that felt, for that public confidence to come so easily. To _enjoy_ it. He wondered if it was anything like the thrill he felt when he had the entire room hanging on his words as they pulled a case together.  
He tilted his drink, considering it. It was still half full. He hadn't felt the need to drink much lately, despite everything that was swirling in his mind. Despite what Ladon had said to him as he left the club, the effects of what they'd done together were still lingering. He felt balanced - calm - in a way he hadn't for a very long time.

He carried his drink through the busy room, saying hello to the few people he knew reasonably well, before he found himself a seat on the broad edge of one of the staggered rows of garden beds that climbed their way up the back wall of the room.  
He'd been there barely five minutes when a sharply dressed figure made his way out of the crowd, a drink in each hand.  
'Hiding again, Potter?' Malfoy asked, passing him a glass of what looked like Ballachin. Harry swirled what was left in his current glass and swallowed it, breathing out against the burn.  
Harry shrugged, 'Not hiding, just … watching.'

Malfoy hummed, then surprised him, slipping his jacket off and laying it on the smooth wooden edge, before boosting himself up beside Harry, sitting with his legs dangling.  
'Do you like to watch?' Malfoy asked, glancing across at him, and there was a teasing glint in his eye. Harry wondered how much he'd had to drink … wondered if he was flirting.  
He flushed slightly at the question, heat trickling through him as he remembered being asked those same words by a very different man - remembered watching something intricate and beautiful play out on a stage for his pleasure.

'How's your son?' he asked instead, deliberately changing the subject.  
Malfoy laughed quietly, then smiled. 'He's wonderful.' His whole demeanor softened when he thought about his child, Harry realised, ignoring the twinge in his chest this thought gave him.  
'I took a few days off and we spent Christmas with Andromeda and Teddy, then we went across to Paris. It was nice,' Malfoy's smile turned down slightly. 'I don't get to spend as much time with him as I'd like.'  
Harry nodded. 'Teddy couldn't stop raving about the Slipstream you brought him. I think if Andromeda hadn't threatened not to let him take it back to school, he wouldn't have stopped flying all night.' He chuckled, remembering how Teddy had gone on and on over dinner about Uncle Draco this and Uncle Draco that.

Malfoy laughed too, lifting his wineglass and taking a sip. 'He's a great kid. Scorpius really likes him. It's nice for him to have someone else around - family. It's important.'  
Harry nodded, a pang running through him at the words. He knew he still had the Weasleys, and he always would. But something in him wanted a family for himself, wanted that protectiveness and pride in his own voice when he talked about his children. He sighed and took a sip of his drink. There was no point in pursuing that line of thought. He'd given up on it a long time ago.

Malfoy caught the sigh and eyed him. 'Everything okay, Potter?'  
Harry shrugged, suddenly not wanting to be alone in this room of people who didn't know him. Maybe if he shared a tiny piece of what was swirling in his head, he'd feel less alone. To be sharing it with Malfoy though, he shook his head at himself.  
'I guess the news will be out soon enough,' he said, looking down at the amber liquid swirling in his glass. 'Things at home -' he paused, wondering how best to frame it. There was no best way. Not really. 'Ginny and I have split,' he said, not looking up.  
There was a long pause, and Harry expected a sneer or a taunt, but when Malfoy spoke his voice was respectful - measured. 'I'm sorry to hear that. It - there's no hope of getting back together?'  
Harry shook his head. 'We're not right anymore.' He looked at Malfoy, who was considering him, silver eyes watching him closely. Harry looked away, unable to hold his regard.

He glanced around the room instead, wanting to change the subject, move away from the heaviness that had overtaken them. His eye caught on Parkinson, who looked away when she noticed his regard.  
'What's up with her?' Harry asked, indicating the woman with a tilt of his glass.  
'Hmm?' Malfoy asked, glancing up, his eyes falling unerringly on her.  
'Parkinson's been giving me strange glances for the last half hour,' Harry said, wondering if it was some lingering issue she had with him from the war. He hadn’t forgotten the moment she showed her true colours. He doubted she had either.

'Oh. I - ah - I told her we were friends,' Malfoy said, running his finger up the stem of his wine glass, eyes tracking its movement.  
Harry looked at him, surprised and a touch intrigued at the words. 'Is that what we are, friends?'  
Malfoy shrugged, looking back up at him. 'Well, we're not enemies anymore.' He seemed to consider for a moment and then he laughed quietly. 'I used to think of you as my nemesis at school,' he said, raising one eyebrow and looking down his nose at Harry with the full Malfoy glare.  
Harry snorted, 'You were so dramatic. I still can't believe you dressed up as a dementor just to make me throw a game.'

Malfoy sniffed, taking a sip of his drink. 'Yes, well, follies of youth and all that.'  
Then he raised his glass slightly, tilting it towards Harry.  
'To not being enemies,' he said, a smile hovering at the edges of his mouth.  
Harry leaned his own glass forward, clinking them together lightly. 'To not being enemies.'

 

It was then that the bomb went off.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear your thoughts, guesses, impressions of the change of pace/ what we learned from everyone this chapter.
> 
> Just anything really. I love everything. Every single thing I get as a comment <3


	13. Chapter 13

Harry woke with a thumping headache and a feeling like he'd run a marathon. His whole body felt drained. He blinked, squinting against the bright lights as he tried to get his bearings, turning his head with an effort that took far more energy than it should and wrung a low groan from him. He recognised the smell first. Bloody St Mungo's always smelled like this overly sweet cleaner Aunt Petunia had made him use. The stink of it used to cling to his hands for days. He hated the memories his hospital visits always stirred in him.

'Harry,' came a relieved voice from beside him, and then Ron was there, breaking into his spiralling thoughts and standing over him, looking down with concern written all over his face. He turned away for a second and Harry caught a glimpse of Ron's Patronus flowing from the end of his wand, the jack russell tearing from the room. Then he sank back into his chair, reaching out to grip Harry's hand in both of his, squeezing it as he let out a shaky breath.

'W'appen?' Harry whispered, trying to push himself up into a seated position. He barely managed to move his head off the pillow. The helplessness sent fear jolting through him. What _had_ happened? He remembered the party. Talking to Malfoy. And then -  
'Bomb,' he rasped, blinking at Ron.  
Ron's face changed, but instead of the sadness and shock Harry thought he'd see, Ron's eyes held a hint of … awe. He looked at Harry with a look he hadn't ever seen in his best mate's face, but which he'd seen plastered on the faces of strangers over and again in the years after he defeated Voldemort. He didn't like it. He didn't want that from Ron, of all people.

'What happened?' Harry whispered again. Stronger this time. More determined.  
Ron swallowed. 'You - bloody hell, mate. You didn't tell us you were that powerful now.'  
Harry tried to push himself up again, grimacing against the exhaustion. Ron leaned forward to help him, pulling him up gently and shoving a pillow behind his back.  
'Ron,' Harry rasped, looking him in the eye. 'What the fuck happened?'

Ron gave him the ghost of a smile. 'There was a bomb. A Muggle explosive, at the party you were at. You - well from what Malfoy said-,' Ron paused, fixing Harry with a look that said they'd definitely be talking about _that_ soon. 'From what Malfoy said -' Ron looked impressed now, proud, rather than awed. 'You turned time, Harry. You bloody - somehow, you - they were dead he said. All of them. And you pulled time back … or something …' he trailed off and Harry felt his memory unspool.

There had been an explosion. A flash of light and a roar of sound. Screams and heat and shattering glass. It had expanded out like a wave, unstoppable and deadly. He'd _seen_ them - seen the shrapnel hitting them … He couldn't. He _wouldn't_ let it happen in front of him. He'd stood, throwing his arms out as though grasping the source of the pain - the wrongness. All he'd wanted to do was make it stop. Make it so it had never happened. He'd _ripped_ his clenched fists back, focussing his entire being down into his need to make it _stop_. Then … nothing. Then, here.

He focussed back on Ron, and then Hermione ran into the room, rushing to his bedside and throwing her arms around him.  
'Harry,' she said into his neck. 'Harry, gods, we were so worried.' She pulled back. 'They said - you drained your core. They said you might not wake up.' She hugged him again and then half-stood, wiping at her eyes, before sniffing, and sitting on the edge of his bed.  
'How are you feeling?' she asked, peering at him.  
'Fine,' he rasped. At her sceptical look he shrugged. 'Tired.' Then he focussed on the more important thing. 'What happened to everyone else?'

A look of sadness flitted across Hermione's face. 'I saw Hannah briefly on her way from the trauma ward. Two people have died. They're still identifying the bodies from what she said. One might be the person who did it. Another six I think are being treated for wounds, but they'll all live.' She reached out and took his hand. 'What you did Harry - what Malfoy said you did … that shouldn't - people can't _do_ things like that. Time magic is - it's - you're breaking Myrdin's fundamental law of conservation of magical energy in a time continuum. People can't just ...' She trailed off and looked at him helplessly.  
Harry closed his eyes, leaning back into his pillow and letting himself feel the grief of the fact that he'd been unable to save them all. Then he took a deep breath, feeling slightly stronger than he had when he'd first woken. He thought about Hermione's words. _People can't_ do _things like that_. 

He didn't want the cycle to start again. He didn't want the attention and the stares and the whispers to come back with that level of intensity. He sighed, resigned and opened his eyes.  
'Who knows?' he asked.  
Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.  
'Just us,' Hermione said softly. 'Malfoy - he was frantic. He Apparated here with you. Told the Healers you'd shielded the blast - protected everyone from the worst of it, and that's why you'd passed out. Then,' she glanced at Ron again and Harry looked between them. 'Then when we got the call from Ginny that you were here - she's downstairs - we came straight in and Malfoy … he dragged me off to one side and-' Hermione shrugged. 'I think he's the only one who knows what really happened. He said he was standing behind you. I think he saw it all happen, instead of being caught in the loop.'

Hermione's dark eyes fixed on Harry. 'He was really upset, Harry. They had to force him out. What's … I didn't know you and he were …' she trailed off, as though unsure what to say next.  
Harry took in the meaning of her words and his eyes widened. He shook his head, wincing as the throbbing started up again.  
'We're not. I barely even - we've just run into each other a few times lately, that's all.'

Ron fixed on him. 'You're saying you dodged our annual New Years party tradition to go - voluntarily - to _Malfoy's_ party?' Ron's face was a mixture of indignation and genuine bafflement.  
Harry shrugged. 'Probably not the most important thing to talk about right now. How long has it been since the incident? Do you know if Jones has been in?'

Hermione's eyes flashed and she opened her mouth - probably to object to Harry moving into work mode, but the longer he lay there, the more he could feel his strength and clarity returning.  
'It's been eight hours,' Ron said, clearly understanding Harry's need for information. 'It's just gone half seven in the morning, and I don't think she has. I know the Healers have sent status reports back to HQ.'

Hermione started at that. 'The Healers! We need to tell them you're awake, Harry. They need to run tests.'  
Harry grimaced at the thought. He hated St Mungo's visits. It had been a while since his last one, since he didn't spend as much time in the field anymore, but they always fussed far more than he thought was necessary. It made him miss Madam Pomfrey's no nonsense approach.

Hermione touched the glowing sphere hovering above his bedside table and it glowed red for a second. She looked at him, her expression serious. 'They really thought there was a chance you might not wake up,' she said, and Harry could hear the fear and anguish lingering in her voice. 'Please, just listen to what they say.'  
Harry nodded, knowing he would try … knowing he probably wouldn’t succeed.

\----

It was a few hours later when Phillipa Jones poked her head in his door. The Healers had finished with him, pronouncing him remarkably sound after what he'd done. He was soaking magic back in at a rate faster than they'd seen before, which was good. Meant he'd be out of there the next day, instead of a week later. Ginny had dropped by as well, relieved to see he was going to be okay. She hadn't stayed long. It had been nice to see her, but there was still an air of awkwardness over the visit. 

Jones hesitated in the doorway, but Harry beckoned her in, pushing himself up straighter with a wince. Ron and Hermione had left after the Healer's visit, needing to pick the kids up from Ron's parents. Hermione had wanted to stay but Harry hadn't felt much like being worried over, so had told her he wanted to sleep. Instead he'd lain in bed, pouring over the blast, trying to remember every detail of what had happened, what had seemed out of place.

'Hey, boss,' she said, sinking down into the chair next to him and laying her briefing notes on the bed. 'How are you?'  
Her face was lined with concern and her brown eyes looked tired.  
'I'm fine,' he said with a smile. 'Overextended a bit is all. How are you? Were you on shift last night?'  
Jones shook her head, tucking a dark curl behind her ear. 'I was at a party. Got called to the scene about twenty minutes after it happened. It was chaos. Muggle responders everywhere, guests in a panic.' She shook her head at the memory.

Harry frowned. Whoever had done it - if they hadn't been killed in the blast - would have had ample time to leave the scene.  
'What do we know?' he asked.  
Jones flipped open her folder without hesitation, passing him photos and notes.  
'Two dead, six injured. From what we can ascertain, one of the dead was a Muggle waiter at the venue - white, late twenties, male. The other has been confirmed as Cordelia Avery, forty three, Pureblood, married with two children. The family was informed an hour ago.' Harry winced at the news.

'We have MagiTechs on the scene analysing the remnants of the explosive. It's confusing them. Everything they're seeing seems to indicate the blast should have been much bigger than it was.'  
Harry debated how much to tell her, then figured the Healers would be passing on their reports anyway.  
'I shielded it,' he said, not a lie. From all accounts he _had_ cast a shield around it, after he'd somehow managed to pull time back for a few seconds so he could react quickly enough to do it.

Jones whistled low, 'That would explain it. That's one hell of a shield, boss.'  
Harry waved at her to continue, uncomfortable with the admiration on her face. And she didn’t even know what he'd _actually_ done.  
'Anyway,' she went on. 'Preliminary analysis indicates it was hidden inside a drinks trolley - Muggle Police Liaison is coordinating with their investigation to pinpoint the identity of the Muggle waiter who died. There are two options. Either he put the bomb there and wheeled it into the crowd as a suicide mission, or he didn’t know it was there and was a pawn. Either way, we're tracking him down. Looking into possible accomplices too.'

Harry nodded, digesting the news. Another potential Muggle attack. 'We're keeping this away from the papers?' he asked.  
Jones grimaced. 'Vultures are already printing the incident. But there's no Muggle connection … yet.'  
Harry nodded. 'Let's try and keep it that way.' Then he remembered something and reached for the folder Jones had, leafing through it until he found the guest list. He scanned down it, confirming what he'd noted at the party.  
'Has the Muggle who died been scanned for magical residue?' he asked, looking at Jones. She looked puzzled for a moment, but nodded. 'I'd think so. We were on the scene almost immediately and there was no way this one was being treated as an accident.'

'Good,' Harry responded. 'Get the report as a priority. If he shows _anything_ out of the ordinary, I want you to find the list of names in the case file on my desk. Draco Malfoy made it up for me. It's people who have an issue with the Pureblood Society and what they're doing.' He paused, looking at Jones and making sure she understood the seriousness of what he was saying. 'Not one of those people was at the party last night.'  
Jones' eyes widened and she looked faintly ill. 'You think another wizard is behind this? You think one of our own is attacking us?'  
Harry shrugged, 'It's just a thought for now, but it make a lot more sense than a series of Muggles deciding to target wizarding groups out of nowhere.'

Jones hesitated, 'You said Malfoy gave you the names? What makes you think they're legit. He doesn't have the best … past.'  
Harry frowned, annoyance spiking over him. 'I know exactly what sort of past Malfoy has,' he said. 'I was there for it. The names are legit.'  
Jones considered him for a moment longer, looking slightly surprised at the defensiveness in his tone. Then she nodded. 'Right. Will do. I'll send Johnson in with an update later.'

Harry nodded, duplicating the folder with a pass of his hand and handing Jones the original back.  
She looked as though she wanted to protest, the same look Hermione had sported coming over her face.  
'I'll see you in the morning,' Harry said, cutting her off. 'I'll be in for first shift. I'll send you a Patronus if I think of anything else while I look through this lot,' he said, lifting the folder slightly.  
Jones frowned, but nodded. 'Get some rest, please,' she said.  
Harry nodded in return, opening the folder and making a shooing motion at her. He didn't watch her go, already absorbed in reading through the report inside.

\----

Harry started awake at a light touch across his forehead and he saw a figure jerk back into the chair beside him, grey eyes wide as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.  
'Malfoy?' Harry said, blinking and rubbing his face. He heard the rustle of papers and looked down to see the casefile still spread out all over his bed. With an annoyed flick of his fingers at his carelessness, he gathered it up and sent it sailing into the bedside drawer, locking it wordlessly.  
Then he looked back over at Malfoy, who seemed to have recovered from Harry's abrupt awakening and was now watching him closely, leaning back in his chair, dressed in smart, deep blue robes.

'How are you feeling?' Malfoy asked, the intensity in his eyes not abating. His fingers twitched as though he wanted to reach out but was stopping himself.  
Harry frowned slightly at the strangeness of it. 'What are you doing here?' he asked.  
Now it was Malfoy's turn to frown and he looked down, breaking eye contact.  
'I - it was my party, and, well, the days of me wanting to do away with the great Harry Potter are long past. I just came to see whether you were alright, is all,' he finished, glancing back up at Harry almost defiantly.  
Harry could tell there was more to it than that - there always was, with Malfoy - but he didn't have the energy to pursue it.

'I'm okay,' he said instead. 'Just tired. Should be out tomorrow.'  
Malfoy's frown deepened. 'Tomorrow? You almost _died_. Fuck, Potter,' he glanced around and then lowered his voice. 'I've never seen anyone do what you did … It … it was incredible.' Malfoy's voice softened, and there was something in his eyes, something different from the awe which had tinged Ron's and the concern in Hermione's. There was heat in Malfoy's gaze …. hunger.  
Harry shivered slightly under the regard, feeling his magic spark inside him for the first time all day.  
'You won't tell anyone what happened?' he asked, hoping Malfoy had meant what he'd said the night before. Hoping that maybe friends actually was a term they could use. Hoping that Malfoy would do this thing for him, when there were so many reasons for him not to.

Malfoy hesitated, 'I already told Granger and Weasley, sorry, I just - I needed someone to know. The Healers wouldn't let me in and -' he cut himself off abruptly and took a breath, sitting back in his chair.  
'You brought me in,' Harry said, remembering Hermione's words.  
Malfoy's eyes met his again and he nodded. There was something written in them that Harry couldn't read and it frustrated him.  
'Thank you,' he said.  
Malfoy smiled, and it was a smile tinged with the same remembered pain he'd seen in Hermione's face. Harry wondered at that - wondered whether it was just the fear of thinking that a Pureblood party might be the reason for Harry Potter's death. Wondered if Malfoy was just worried about the repercussions such an event would bring in a time when it seemed that rifts were being healed … but something about that didn't seem quite right.

'You really don't need your wand anymore, do you?' Malfoy asked, breaking into his contemplation.  
Harry shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. He'd only ever talked to Ron and Hermione about this - and Ginny knew some of it, but not the full extent. But Malfoy had seen what he'd done, and he hadn’t told anyone. 'I haven't for a long time. I carry it more for appearances than anything. So I don't draw more attention …' he let his voice trail off, remembering how Malfoy had accused him for years of chasing attention and fame. But Malfoy showed no indication of revisiting those days, instead he watched Harry intently.  
'Do you know why?' he asked. And here Harry hesitated again. The why was the thing. It had been hinted at. Whispered of. But no one who had been involved had ever confirmed it.

He looked again at Malfoy, knowing that with what he'd seen Harry do, what he had in his head, he could already blow the whole thing wide open. He wondered if maybe showing a little trust might get him further than not. He didn't talk about it because he didn't want people idolising him more than they already did … but then he remembered how Malfoy had reacted to his accidental time slip … and he remembered the way Malfoy was all through school. He didn’t think there was anyone less likely to be overawed by him than Draco Malfoy … and he liked that, he realised.

'I was … connected to Voldemort for a long time.' He reached up, tracing his fingers down the scar that started at his hairline and ran in jagged lines down his forehead, over his eye and down onto his cheek. The old scar was a familiar thin ridge of pain and loss.  
Malfoy nodded, watching the path of his fingers.

'I also … died,' he said, glancing at Malfoy to see how he would take the news. Malfoy sucked in a breath and his eyes jerked to Harry's, shock in them morphing into understanding, as though he'd just had long-held thoughts confirmed.  
Harry continued. 'We don't know why exactly, but Hermione's theory is that I had a - a void in me, where Voldemort's magic lived. When I died - when he was forced out - it …' he shrugged, 'She thinks the void was left there and my magic spilled over into it and just kept filling it up and filling it up.' 

He considered for a moment mentioning the Hallows, revealing what it was to have been Master of Death. But it was only for a moment. That was one thing the three of them had agreed never to tell. The world was better thinking that such things were myths and fairy tales.  
Instead he smoothed his fingers over each other and thought about what he wanted. His Patronus spilled from his hand, prancing around his bed and tossing its head before stepping closer to Malfoy to regard him curiously.  
Malfoy stared at it for a long moment, the shine of it reflected in his silvery eyes. Then he raised a tentative hand to it. The stag reached forward, his nose almost nudging Malfoy's palm, then he disappeared in to a silvery mist.

Malfoy looked after him for second and then shook himself, turning to Harry with a scowl. 'You almost died last night, Potter. You drained your magical core - even if it is bloody more impressive than anyone else's. What are you doing creating a bloody nonverbal Patronus so soon after -' He cut himself off abruptly, cheeks reddening, as though realising he'd been scolding Harry like an angry mother.  
Harry grinned, his apprehension at telling Malfoy disappearing completely. Whatever reaction he thought he'd get, Malfoy jumping straight into mother hen mode had not been it. He wondered if that was a reflection of the fact that he was a parent now.

'I didn't realise you cared,' he teased.  
Malfoy reddened further. 'Yes, well. I'm sure if you have the stupidity to go pulling stunts like that, there's probably a whole lot of things you don't realise, Potter.'  
Harry snorted, wondering just when Malfoy's taunts had gone from cutting to … fond. He wondered what it meant that he actually quite liked the new dynamic.  
Malfoy sniffed, and made to get up. 'I'll leave you to it -' he began.  
'Wait,' Harry said, not wanting to be left alone. 'Don't go. I - what time is it even? I'm not tired. If you go I'll just sit here by myself and probably be forced to use more magic to amuse myself.'  
Malfoy rolled his eyes but subsided back into the chair.

'So,' Harry said, with a grin. 'Amuse me.'

\----

He was weak the next day, weaker than he'd been in a long time, but it didn't stop him from coming into work. Now, more than ever, he needed to be there to support his team. It was mid-morning when the evidence boxes arrived. They'd set up the conference room as a HQ for all Ministry staff dedicated to the case and Harry was there with Jones and Johnson when the boxes arrived. They all headed over for a look as soon as they realised they'd been sourced from the bomber's house.

They'd identified the bomber late the night before. His name was Jacob Summers, he was twenty-eight, single, lived alone, and had been studying horticulture part time while working at Sky Garden. He'd been there for three years. They'd tracked him down from the staffing rosters. Every other member had been accounted for. His face was up on the case board alongside David Bright, the lorry driver's.  
Underneath were pictures of the six people Malfoy had named in his list of suspects. They'd gone up on the board the moment Summers' body had tested positive for magical influence. Front running theory was Imperius Curse.

Harry spared a bitter glance for the six mugshots, scrolling his eyes across them in distaste.  
The first two he could have guessed himself: Augustus Rockwood and Walden Macnair. Those two had been on the sidelines of polite society for years now. Never quite meeting the justice they deserved.  
The next three had been less obvious. He wasn't sure that without an understanding of Pureblood politics, he would have identified them.

Euphemia Rowle, according to Malfoy, was a rabid traditionalist, and had not let go of the idea that intermarrying was polluting bloodlines and that the correct place for Muggles was as servants to wizarding kind.  
Geoffrey Selwyn was the last surviving member of his family and by Malfoy's account, saw that fact as due to the pervasive influence of Muggle-lovers and their insistence on breaking apart the old bonding and marriage traditions. His photo showed a sneering, cruel-faced man and Harry got the impression that he as a person was the reason he hadn't been able to carry on the line.  
Rudolf Avery looked to be in his early twenties and was the grandson of the Avery Harry had come up against during the war. He was one of those who hadn't shaken off his upbringing by the looks of him.

The last was Lucius Malfoy. Part of Harry was still amazed that Draco had changed so much that he had given his father's name for something like this. Part of Harry liked, very much, that he had. Lucius glared down at them all from his photograph, as though reminding them that they were beneath him.

Harry gave him the finger and turned his attention to the evidence boxes. He blanched when he realised it was photos again. Two envelopes worth.  
'So they're linked?' he asked.  
The Junior Auror who'd brought the boxes in - Evan? No Euan. Euan Abercrombie - looked up. 'Smith asked me to tell you that yes, there are a lot of similarities so far. These photos are all static too. They're sorted into two piles. That's how we found them.'

Harry frowned, spreading the picture apart on the table, keeping them in the distinct groupings.  
'Does he know why there are two groups?'  
Abercrombie shook his head and Harry's eyes flicked over the images, the larger group had a number of people he remembered from the party, including Cordelia Avery, the woman who had been killed. They were all captured by a Muggle camera, seemingly in moments of everyday life.

He looked at the smaller group and then froze, as his eye caught on Draco Malfoy, holding hands with Scorpius as they walked down a Muggle street together. He felt a sick sense of dread run through him.  
'We need to arrange protective details,' he said. 'We need to inform every person who is in these photos or the ones from the Bright case that they have been identified as a target. Avoiding large groups and public spaces should be sufficient for now, but we should set up a team to rotate surveillance.' He looked across at Jones. 'Johnson, you can handle that, can't you? You've done multiple stints with the Ministerial Protection team.'  
Johnson nodded, scribbling some notes. 'I'll set it up now.'

Harry turned back to the photos, his eye catching on the one of Malfoy again. He'd only met little Scorpius once, but the idea of something happening to the boy … he turned away, resolving to owl Malfoy on his next break. He'd inform him of the danger himself.  
'Right,' he said to Abercrombie. 'Keep them separate but get them up. New board will do.' He turned back to Jones.  
'Mind telling me why the fuck the _Prophet_ is running with a Muggle Terror Attacks headline?'  
Jones shrugged and her face twisted. 'We think they've just latched on to the similarities between the two cases. We haven't released any details about the wizarding connection and the possible Imperius, so they're going with whatever will sell the most papers.'

Harry gritted his teeth, wishing he could direct the next attack their way, then immediately regretting that thought. No one deserved to have this sort of violence visited upon them.  
'We have a call for calm out?' he asked, knowing there wasn't going to be much he could do to stop the situation escalating, aside from catching the bastards who were engineering it.

Jones nodded. 'Right,' Harry said. 'Get a team on communications as well. Whoever is organising this must be talking somehow, and we need to find out how. Hopefully if anyone else is thinking of retaliating against Muggles we'll hear of that before it happens too. But get some plain clothes patrols out in the Muggle areas wizards are most likely to visit. And publicise that we're doing it too. Last thing we need is some bloody hothead attacking Muggles in some trumped up idea of payback.'

Jones nodded, scribbling notes and then Harry waved her away, checking the clock on the wall. He had a briefing with Javier and the Minister in ten minutes. He stopped by his office to scribble a note, which he asked Mrs. Norris to owl to Malfoy, and then he headed into the lion's den. He just knew Javier was going to try to take over the investigation and the last thing he needed was the DMLE Head wrapping the whole thing up in red tape and miscommunication. This would be solved by the people on the ground, and he was the one that got the best out of those people.

\----

He came out of the meeting tired but victorious. His subtle dig at how lucky it was that Javier's reforms to reduce the Auror force's strength hadn't yet been implemented had been enough for Shacklebolt to take his side and grant his department lead on the case. Now he just needed to deliver results.

He returned to his office on the way back to the case room to see a pile of new memos on his desk. One wasn't on Ministry letterhead and he pulled it out. It was just an address and a time and the initials DM. He tucked it into his pocket, glad Malfoy had taken him seriously. 

He thought back to the night before, after he'd asked Malfoy to stay with him at St Mungo's. He didn’t know what he'd been expecting when he threw out the offer, just that he hadn’t wanted to be alone. Malfoy had stayed for a few hours, even going as far as to disillusion himself with a wink when the Healers came in to check on Harry. The time had been … nice. More than nice if he was honest. They'd talked. Or Malfoy had talked, to start with, just about things. About Quidditch rankings and hints of gossip he'd picked up and what Scorpius' school was like. He hadn’t thought conversation would flow so easily between them. He was left wondering, after Malfoy had gone, why he had assumed that. Neither of them were their hot headed fifteen year old selves anymore and it was silly of him to keep casting Malfoy in that mould.

He was kicked out at seven, after he'd completed his full twelve hours and once Sue walked in. She sat below him - just - and she ran the night shift like he ran the day. Susan Bones took no shit - she'd been a part of the DA at school and had been determined to follow in her Aunt's footsteps since. He knew she would have it in hand and passed his days notes to her with a brief run down.  
'Sleep,' she said. 'I'll see you at seven.'

Harry nodded and went back to his office to get out of his robes. But when he went downstairs to Floo, it wasn't to Grimmauld Place. He pulled out the piece of paper with Malfoy's address on it and stumbled out of his fireplace a moment later. The room he found himself in was … different than he'd expected. Then he shook his head at himself. He didn't know what he'd expected, except maybe a replica of the Manor. From the little digging he'd done, he'd learned Malfoy didn't live there anymore.  
This … this was probably as far away from the Manor as you could get. He was standing in a small living room, television and sound system on one wall, comfortable leather couches strewn with throws and pillows in front of it and in the corner a table with a kids train set puffing its way around a mountainous track. The whole room was decorated in greys and browns and it felt … warm. Comfortable. Nothing like the Manor.  
Maybe that was the point, Harry thought.

A moment later Malfoy walked into the room, wearing a white t-shirt and grey joggers, a dish towel slung over one shoulder. He halted when he saw Harry, pinking slightly.  
'Eight o'clock means eight o'clock, Potter. Not ten past seven. I -' he glanced down at himself briefly, then his cheeks reddened further.  
'Sorry,' Harry said, though he wasn't. He looked Malfoy up and down, surprised to see the usually impeccably dressed man looking so casual. The look suited him, he thought. Malfoy seemed more … approachable like this. Harry's eyes lingered on the way the t-shirt clung to his chest and showed biceps that were more defined than he'd thought they would be … not that he'd thought about Malfoy's biceps.

He realised he'd been staring when Malfoy turned his arm away. He realised a moment later that Malfoy thought he'd been staring at his Mark. He hadn't even noticed it, but now his eyes flicked down and then back up to meet Malfoy's.  
'I-' he opened his mouth, not sure what he could say to defuse the sudden tension in the room. Then Scorpius came around the corner, dressed in pyjamas covered in galloping unicorns and holding a rather old looking toy dragon.  
'I'm ready for stories, papa,' he said, and then stopped as he saw Harry. A moment later his whole face lit up in recognition. 'Mr. Harry! Why are you at my house?'

'Hi, Scorpius,' Harry said, kneeling down. 'I just came to say hello to your papa.' He saw some of the tension go out of Malfoy with those words, and almost rolled his eyes at the man. As if he would tell a four year old that there was a threat against his life.  
'Who's this?' he asked instead, pointing at the green, lumpy looking dragon in Scorpius' hands.  
''Braxus,' Scorpius said, holding the toy out proudly. 'He's special. He was my papa's. We have to be careful with him.'  
Harry couldn't help the grin that spread across his face at those words and he snuck a glance across at Malfoy as he said, 'He looks very special indeed. You're a lucky boy to have such a wonderful friend.'

Malfoy snorted softly, then stepped forward, 'Come, _mon chou_ , time for bed.'  
'No,' Scorpius objected. 'Not fair. Mr. Harry just got here.' Malfoy gave Harry a pointed glance and Harry suddenly realised this was the reason Malfoy had specified eight. He felt a tingle of guilt.  
'Sorry, Scorp,' he said. 'I can come for a visit another time, maybe.'  
Scorpius was having none of it, screwing up his face, 'No! I don't want to go to bed.'  
'Come on, _mon coeur_ ,' Malfoy said. 'We can read Babbity Rabbity again.'  
Scorpius seemed to latch on to this. 'Mr. Harry can read Babbity Rabbity,' he said, reaching out a hand for Harry's and pulling him forward.  
Malfoy shrugged a shoulder at Harry's helpless glance, and grinned. 'I'll be in the kitchen if you need me, Potter,' he said, pointing back through the open entrance he'd come in though.

Harry thought about objecting a moment, but then he looked down into Scorpius' eager face and decided he actually had no problems with reading to the boy.  
'Sounds good,' he said. 'Where's your room?'  
Scorpius led him through a door on the opposite side of the room to the television and down a short hall. There were photos hung on the walls and Harry tried not to linger too long, but he was captivated by the laughter and joy in all of them. There was Scorpius flying on a kids broom, he and Malfoy in a selfie on top of what looked like London Bridge, and then a few, which looked formal, where a dark haired woman, who Harry realised must be Astoria, sat with Malfoy and a much younger Scorpius in a park. The three of them made a beautiful picture, both parents looking down at their child with such a look of devotion. Harry felt the same sympathy for Malfoy stirring, to think that he had had his wife taken from him, that Scorpius had lost such a loving mother.

He turned away from the picture and let Scorpius tug his hand and lead him down the hall. There were two doors at the end of the passage. Scorpius turned into one, and Harry realised with a quick glance that the other was Malfoy's. In the light from the hall he caught a glimpse of pale blue sheets, cream and silver and a canopy that reminded him of his Hogwarts bed, then he turned away. He had no business looking at Malfoy's bedroom. He didn't know what had gotten into him. He looked down at the blond boy who was tugging him resolutely forward and reflected that he had no real understanding of how he'd gone from seeing Draco Malfoy's picture in an active case, to being in his house reading his son a bedtime story. 

He shrugged mentally, looking around the room in surprise as Scorpius crossed to his bed and turned on a small lamp. There was a mural across two walls and spread up across the ceiling - leafy trees swayed in an imaginary breeze as dusk fell over a forest. He could see stars beginning to twinkle in the sky.

Scorpius paid no attention to the amazing scene, instead walking over to a bookcase that was built in the same shape as the base of one of the trees on the wall. It was filled with children's books and Scorpius sorted through them for a moment before pulling out the one he wanted. Harry shook his head at the difference between growing up in the wizarding world, where such incredible magic could be just another part of life, and growing up in the Muggle world, where the day your Hogwarts letter arrived meant that every single part of what you thought to be true had just been upended.  
He looked at Scorpius and wondered if maybe he now he could understand the … impatience of some of his schoolmates back in the beginning, when he and the other Muggle-borns had been so slow to grasp basic concepts.

Scorpius climbed into his bed and waved Harry over, handing him the book. Harry looked down at the familiar title, _Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump_ , just as worn as Rose's copy was. He sat on the floor beside the bed, leaning an elbow on the mattress so he could open it at the right angle for the boy to see the pictures.  
'A long time ago,' he began, and Scorpius smiled, pulling his dragon in close. 'In a land far, far away, a King decided to keep all the magic in the world for himself.'  
Harry lost himself in the story, in bringing it to life from the page, doing all the voices the way Rose and Hugo loved. Scorpius chimed in occasionally and Harry could tell he'd read the story with his dad countless times. The thought made him warm, that Scorpius was clearly growing up well loved with a father who spent time with him.

This thought was in his mind when he glanced up to see Malfoy standing in the doorway to the bedroom, still dressed in t-shirt and joggers, hair tousled, arms crossed over his chest and an expression on his face that was uncharacteristically open and vulnerable. It looked like … longing. Harry suddenly wondered how long it had been since someone other than Malfoy had read his son a story goodnight, or shared the bedtime routine. He felt out of place, but also strangely at home, as though this felt just as natural as doing it with Rose, or Hugo.

He glanced away, finishing the story and closing the book.  
'Goodnight, Scorp,' he said, smiling at the boy as he pushed to his feet. 'Goodnight 'Braxus,' he said to the dragon with a wink at Scorpius. The boy giggled and lay back in his bed.  
Harry moved towards the doorway, brushing past Malfoy as he did, the contact fizzing strangely through him. As he left the room he could hear Malfoy step forward, murmuring to the boy.

He went back out through the living room and into the kitchen, looking around, curiosity not yet abated. He saw Muggle devices, a lot more than he would have assumed. There was a coffee machine that looked like something from a café, a toaster on the bench, a dishwasher near the sink and a refrigerator in the corner. Harry didn't even have a fridge at Grimmauld Place. He just used stasis charms on everything. He shook his head at himself, resolving not to be surprised by Malfoy any longer.

It was a few more minutes before Malfoy came back into the kitchen, crossing to the cupboards above the fridge and pulling out two glasses, titling one towards Harry in a clear question.  
'Sure,' he nodded. 'Thanks.' Malfoy opened the fridge and bent to pull out a bottle of wine. Harry let his eyes linger, just for a moment, on the curve of Malfoy's arse, clearly outlined by the thin material of his joggers, before he forced himself to look away.  
Malfoy waved him into a chair at the table, pouring him a glass of white before putting the bottle back in the fridge. Harry resolutely did not watch.

'How are you feeling? Have you eaten?' Malfoy asked. Harry nodded his head with a murmured 'Fine,' in answer to both questions, but the mere thought of food set his stomach growling. He hadn't eaten since he'd grabbed a pie at the Ministry cafeteria at lunch time.  
Malfoy rolled his eyes, going back to the fridge and pulling out a bowl of pasta.  
'Chicken carbonara okay?' he asked, looking at Harry. 'It's leftovers but it was a decent batch.'  
'Um, sure, thanks,' he said, surprised by the offer, and if he was honest, by the realisation that it was homecooked. Then he felt like an idiot. Malfoy clearly lived alone and this wasn't the sort of house that came with a house elf. Of course he cooked.

Malfoy slid the bowl into the microwave on the bench and Harry looked at it curiously.  
'Warming charm works just as well,' he said, indicating the machine.  
'True,' Malfoy said, crossing his arms and leaning against the bench while he waited for the microwave to count down. 'But I like it. It's clever.' He shrugged. 'And when he's a bit older Scorpius can use it without me needing to cast for him.'  
Harry nodded at the sense in that. They both sat quietly for a long moment, regarding each other. Then the microwave beeped and Malfoy turned back to it, pulling the bowl of steaming pasta out and grabbing a fork from the drawer before sliding both in front of Harry and dropping into a chair opposite him.

'So,' he said, as Harry scooped a mouthful, letting out an appreciative sound at the taste. It was delicious.  
'Your note was rather cryptic - "Need to talk urgently. Possible danger" - doesn't give me a lot to go on.'  
Harry shrugged, chewing. 'Sorry. Didn't want to put too much in writing. We - the case has moved in a new direction and we don't want the people involved to know we're starting to look at them.'  
Malfoy hummed in thought. 'Those people wouldn't happen to be the people I identified for you, would they?'

Harry hesitated, knowing he really shouldn't discuss an open case with a possible target, but then he thought of little Scorpius and the feeling of his tiny hand in Harry's.  
'Yeah,' he said. 'We've identified curse remnants on the latest Muggle attacker. Possible Imperio.'  
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. 'Clever,' he murmured. 'Untraceable, unless you get there early enough, and think to look for it.'  
Harry nodded, 'Yeah whoever it is, they're not stupid.'

He took a sip of wine and then reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a duplicate of the picture of Malfoy and Scorpius, unfolding it and sliding it across the table.  
'We found this in the home of the latest attacker,' he said, watching as Malfoy went white. His hand shook as he reached out slowly to run his finger over his son's face. Then he clenched his jaw and pulled his hand into a fist.  
'What the fuck is going on, Potter?' he said, looking up at Harry, all traces of vulnerability gone from his face. 'Why do they have a picture of my son?'

'It's one of about fifty images we've found over the two scenes,' he said. 'All different people. There's nothing at this point to indicate that you or Scorpius are being particularly targeted.' He paused, 'But we're setting up surveillance and protective details on all people identified in these images. And we're asking them to stay clear of large gatherings like the recent ones where the attacks have occurred.'  
Malfoy shook his head sharply. 'It's - put it in place, if you want, but I will organise protection for my son. I - nothing can happen to him. Do you understand?' He fixed Harry with a fierce gaze. 

Harry nodded, understanding completely. 'We'll have protection organised for you as well -'  
Malfoy waved him away. 'Don't bother. Save the people for someone who needs them more.'  
Harry frowned, annoyed that Malfoy wasn't taking the threat to himself seriously, he certainly seemed to be considering the threat to his son with the gravity it required.  
'These people are no joke, Malfoy,' he said. 'They've already killed two Muggles and one witch, and injured many more. We can only assume they'll strike again. You're in a photo, that means -'  
'I know what it means,' Malfoy said grimly. 'And you don't need to waste your people on looking after me. I assure you. I am very capable of looking after myself and what's mine.'

As he said this, a dark look came into his eye. It was a look that spoke of death and pain and danger. Harry suddenly, somehow, believed implicitly that Draco Malfoy could deliver on his promise - that he was equal to anything that might come up against him. The knowledge was … intriguing. There weren't many who had that level of inbuilt, unshakeable confidence in themselves. Harry recognised it. It came from years of relying on yourself, of getting yourself out of life or death situations and of fighting so hard that nothing mattered except the win.

Harry nodded, a grim smile coming onto his face. 'Alright then,' he said, meeting Malfoy's gaze with one that spoke just as much of terrible, burning retribution for those who had dared to target innocents.  
'Alright then.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry are tiptoeing closer together ... slowly.  
> I can't help myself with the slow burn, I love it so much. And the chance to have Harry slow burn with Ladon and _then_ with Draco as well was just too much to pass up.
> 
> I would love if you told me what you think, what you liked, what you were surprised by. Just anything. 
> 
> Thanks to the cheer squad <3 and thanks again to everyone who is reading, subscribing, bookmarking and leaving me the most wonderful comments. I really am overwhelmed by all of you. I hadn't expected anywhere near this level of support for the story and it's just the most amazing feeling.
> 
> Thank you! This story is very much for all of you :)


	14. Chapter 14

The next few days passed in a blur. They located Euphemia Rowle and Geoffrey Selwyn and brought both in for questioning, but neither seemed to have anything remotely connected to the case to offer. Since they hadn’t actively been accused of anything, Harry's team wasn't able to question them under Veritaserum or Legilimency. He considered petitioning the Minister, but knew the laws would be upheld. They'd been put in place after Voldemort had turned the Ministry into a blunt force for trauma and torture. He knew why they were needed, and wouldn't change them, not really. But it made his job bloody hard sometimes.

Instead he watched both interviews from behind the charmed glass, scanning for any sense of intent - that was allowed provided there wasn't a deep dive into the interviewee's mind. He hadn't had a hint of anything more than distaste at the fuss of it all and, from Rowle, a sadness that Cordelia Avery had been killed. He had his interrogation team cut them both loose and moved them further down the case board. 

Rockwood seemed to have got wind of what was happening somehow, and was in hiding. Harry had two teams hunting him. Macnair had been injured during his apprehension and was unconscious in St Mungo's. Harry had reprimanded the over-zealous Auror but he couldn't blame him, not really.

Harry closed the folders in front of him and checked the time. They'd left Lucius Malfoy for a few days. They knew exactly where he was, after all, and from everything Harry had seen regarding the restrictions on his house, magic and movement, the idea that he could be involved was incredibly slim. Still, Draco had put him on the list, and there must be some reason behind that, even if it was just to distance himself from his past and the prejudices of his father.

He stood from his desk as Jones poked her head in the door. He moved over to the hook in the corner and slid his Auror dress robes on in place of the more common uniform he tended to wear. The deep maroon was crisp, slashed with black banding and gold-touched shoulders. They made him look forbidding, Hermione said. Harry didn't believe the robes would have any impact on Lucius Malfoy, but he needed no reason for the man to think he had an edge over Harry.

John Murphy, one of his senior interrogators, joined them at the Apparition point, along with Jenny Faust, a witch who was particularly strong in defensive magic. There was no need for them to discuss what they were about to do. Instead they all turned on the spot, arriving at the gates out the front of Malfoy Manor with a resounding crack. They looked through the heavy, iron frames, at the overgrown grounds within. Harry caught sight of a flash of movement in the hedges, but before he could make out what it was, it was gone. He frowned. The place looked far different than the last time he'd been there for the ball just a month earlier. Then the grounds had been immaculate, oozing class and power. Now … now they looked abandoned, unloved, and a little wild. 

He wondered which reality was the true one. He made a mental note to speak to Malfoy about it - to Draco, not his father. He wondered how often Draco hosted events like that, and whether what they knew of the forced isolation restrictions on his father during that time was true … it would be the perfect time for someone to bring Dark items into the house.

Jones looked over at him, hefting a metallic sphere in her hand, and Harry waved to indicate that she should wait a moment. He stepped forward a pace, then two. He felt a tingle against his skin and stepped forward again. Suddenly there was a tinge of red in the air and the prickle against his skin became painful. He took another step forward and blinding pain speared through him. He grunted and moved back immediately to where the other three waited.  
'Wards work,' he said, attempting to make light of it.  
Jones frowned, 'The monthly tests - which don't involve human sacrifice - also indicate that.' Then she held out the sphere and the air shimmered for a moment, before parting like an opaque curtain drawing apart.

Harry stepped forward again, but there was no tingle of warning or tinge of red this time. Instead he walked up to the gates, pushing them open with a creak.  
The four of them moved up the long gravel driveway, the other three with their hands on their wands and Harry with a frown on his face. The whole property had a strange atmosphere to it. A sense of brooding. Of malevolence. Harry had a feeling that was going to make it much harder to get a read on Lucius' emotions.  
A house elf met them at the door, bowing low with an ingratiating, 'This way, please, sirs and madams.'

The entryway they stepped into was dark and empty. It had that same air of neglect the grounds had. It was nothing like the bright and warm rooms Harry had walked through at the Solstice Ball. He frowned deeper, resolving to owl Draco as soon as he got back to the office. He didn't know if it meant anything, but it seemed strange.  
The house elf led them through long corridors and up flights of stairs, the same feeling of gloom and darkness lingering like an oppressive blanket. Eventually they were directed to a doorway. Golden light spilled out, a contrast from the rest of the rooms they'd passed. It looked warm and welcoming. Harry didn't trust it. He wished they'd been able to bring Malfoy senior in for questioning, but apparently the wards were woven with his blood. He couldn't be moved outside them, not even by the Ministry.

Harry stepped forward, squaring his shoulders and moving into the room, taking it in at a glance before centring his attention on the figure seated in a high-backed chair by the fire. Lucius Malfoy sat rigidly, dressed in sharp black robes, his arms resting on the velvet-clad edges of his chair. He smiled a thin-lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes.  
He looked almost exactly the same as he had thirteen years before, when Harry had seen him at his trial - when he'd spoken for Malfoy's wife and son, but not for him. Never for him. His long blond hair still flowed down over his shoulders, shining in the light from the room. His face was still pointed and cruel, lined now but retaining that edge of contempt.

Harry was struck, looking at him, by just how much Draco had changed - how the years had shaped him differently to his father. Draco's face was creased from smiling and his eyes were often warm and caring. Even his hair, the way he wore it now, shaved short on the sides and tousled on top, was a world away from the knife-straight locks his father still sported.  
Harry narrowed in on Lucius, stepping into the room. His team fanned out behind him. There were no other chairs in the room - of course there weren't. Malfoy probably wanted them to stand, like supplicants before him.

Harry focussed for a moment, not bothering with his wand. Not bothering to speak. He called four chairs to life in front of Malfoy, satisfaction curling in him at the look of fleeting surprise on the man's face. Malfoy hid it quickly, but he'd been shocked by the demonstration of Harry's power. Good. He wanted the man as off-balance as he could get him.

'Mr. Malfoy,' Harry said, taking a seat directly in front of him. 'My team and I,' he indicated the others with a wave of his hand, 'are here to question you about a series of attacks that have been conducted in the last three weeks.'  
'Mr. Potter,' Malfoy said, his voice the same thin drawl Harry remembered. 'I was sorry to hear of the attacks. I read of them in the papers, of course. It's horrifying, to see evidence of the things Muggles are capable of.'

Harry scanned him subtly, trying to get a hint of Malfoy's true feelings. Surface-level intentions that were almost impossible for someone to hide, and which so often gave away an understanding of whether they should dig deeper. But all he could feel was the grief and darkness of the house. It was pervasive. It felt alone. Abandoned. He cursed the fact that they had to see Malfoy here, of all places.

'Did you know your son and grandson have been targeted?' he asked. It was one of Murphy's later questions, but Harry wanted to see Malfoy's response. He wanted to see if he could jolt him into any feeling strong enough that it would register over the gloom of their surroundings.  
Malfoy's mouth turned down slightly at the corners. 'What do you mean?' he asked.  
'Photos have been found,' Harry said, 'identifying people who were later targeted. There was a photo of Draco and Scorpius, found after the second attack.'  
Malfoy seemed to relax back into his seat slightly. 'Perhaps you should inform my son that the safest place for him and my grandson would be here, at the Manor, behind wards none can enter.'

Harry looked at him for a long moment, something about the response not ringing true. There had been no spark of emotion. No hint of concern. Was Malfoy so cold and hard that the thought of his son being in danger did nothing to him? He thought back to Draco's response to the idea that Scorpius might be in danger - to the cold, hard fury in his entire body and his single-minded conviction that he would keep his son safe. Did Lucius not feel that, or did he have inside information that told him his son would be safe?

Harry gestured that Murphy should take over and the man leaned forward.  
'You're restricted to Malfoy Manor?' he asked.  
Lucius inclined his head, his eyes tightening. Harry was interested to see that after all these years, that still grated.  
'You have not left, or attempted to leave at any point?'  
At this, Malfoy smiled thinly. 'I tried once, very early in the piece. I still bear the scars.'  
Beside Harry, Jones nodded minutely. This was consistent with the reports they had about the wards.

'Who has access to the Manor?' Murphy asked.  
'I thought you wanted to question me about the attacks?' Malfoy said, looking down his nose at Murphy, ignoring the rest, as though they were worth even less of his attention.  
'Answer the question please, Mr. Malfoy.'  
'My son, Draco, visits me,' he said.  
Harry remembered Jones' report on the Manor. Draco visited every month on the same day at the same time. He never stayed for more than three hours. It was a strange pattern of behaviour. Harry found himself curious at the reason behind it.

'How often does he visit?' he asked, ignoring the slight stiffening in Murphy's posture at the fact that he'd gone totally off script. They knew how often. There was no reason for Harry to ask what he was asking. But what they didn't know, was why.  
Malfoy paused for a long moment. 'He comes each month,' he said, finally.  
'The same day and the same time each month,' Harry observed.  
'Indeed,' Malfoy said.  
'That sounds very … regimented,' Harry said, watching Malfoy carefully. There was a hint of _something_ in his eyes, but he couldn't quite make it out.

'I prefer a regimented life,' Malfoy said instead. 'It gives me structure. You'd understand, I'm sure, Mr. Potter.'  
Harry thought about being completely alone. He thought about being confined to the same place, day in, day out for over a decade. He looked at Lucius Malfoy and wondered if he were still sane.  
He was about to continue the line of questioning, when Murphy spoke again.  
'You said you read about the attacks in the papers, Mr. Malfoy? What did you think, when you read of them?'  
Malfoy considered Murphy for a moment again. 'I was saddened, of course,' he said, no trace of sadness on his face. 'Geraldine Shafiq is still in St Mungo's, and Cordelia Avery lost her life. Purebloods, both. To think that they will be unable to carry on their lines. Dark times.' He shook his head. 'And to think Muggles are to blame.' He looked down his nose at them all again.

'Who else visits you?' Murphy said, ignoring the last statement.  
Malfoy cocked his head to one side. 'My grandson,' he said, something in his face softening slightly at the words. Harry was surprised to see it. 'And my lawyer, once a year.'  
'That's all?' Murphy asked, to confirm what they knew from the reports.  
'Once or twice a year my son hosts a ball,' Malfoy said in his drawling voice. The contempt he had for the idea was clear.  
'And what happens during that time?'

Malfoy's fingers gripped the arms of his chair for a moment, in anger, Harry thought, before he smoothed them out.  
'Your Aurors herd me into the East wing like an animal and set my cage around me.'  
This too accorded with what they knew, as well as the fact that the Ministry swept the Manor for Dark objects after the guest had left. They'd not found anything problematic after any of the events Draco hosted.

'And do you have any other contact with the outside world?' Murphy asked. 'Aside from the paper, and your few visits?'  
'I keep some correspondents,' Malfoy said. 'Jorkins, my lawyer. Some few people from my life before. Most have gone now. Am I led to believe the Ministry is no longer screening my mail and tracking my wards, that you don't know these things?'  
Harry thought of the stack of letters in the evidence boxes, the duplicate copies the Ministry had recorded over the last twelve years. There were reams, but all they revealed were sonnets, obscure passages or political discussions that were years out of date.

'Do you like to garden?' Malfoy asked suddenly, pinning Harry with his hard grey eyes.  
'That's not relevant to the things we need to ask you, Mr. Malfoy,' Murphy said, leaning forward.  
'Narcissa always had the green thumb,' Malfoy said, watching Harry still. 'The Manor suffers for her absence. Four years, she's been gone. The garden has gone wild. It’s a mockery of what it once was.'

He cocked his head and Harry saw a gleam of something in his eyes, a gleam that he recognised - it was the same one some of the suspects they'd brought in over the years had. The ones who had been sent to the Janus Thickery ward, instead of Azkaban. It was madness that lurked in Malfoy's eyes. He reached out again, trying to sense the emotion, the uppermost thoughts in Malfoy's mind. He caught a hint of it, a twisting, slippery thing that was anger and grief wrapped in a ball of spite. He pulled back, repulsed.  
'Sometimes I think about ripping it all out and starting again,' Malfoy continued, still watching Harry in that queer way. 'But it was hers. It's what's left of her. Do you know how it is, Mr. Potter, to hold something as a monument to someone who has passed?'

Harry thought of Grimmauld Place. He thought of his pilgrimage to Godric's Hollow each year. He thought of the way he could see Remus and Tonks in Teddy's face sometimes and how it made his chest hurt. He thought of the clock at the Burrow that always showed a Fred who would never come home. Yes, he knew what it was to hold a monument to those who had been lost.  
'Come on,' he said, standing and gesturing the others to their feet. 'He doesn't know anything. Let's go.'  
The three of them glanced up at him, surprised, but Harry tilted his head at the door. He didn't bother saying goodbye to Malfoy. The man might be on the edge of madness, but he deserved his imprisonment, and his sentence here was far lighter than it would have been in Azkaban.

\----

When he got back to the office, he owled Draco, asking about the appearance of the Manor, still curious about the discrepancy, even if he'd mentally moved Lucius off the suspects list. The reply came back almost straight away.

_Potter, what in hell are you doing seeing my father without speaking to me first? You're lucky I have Scorpius for the day and don't want to expose him to the mess that is your Auror bullpen. Come over as soon as you finish tonight._  
_DM_

Harry considered chucking the note in the bin, nettled by Draco's tone, but then he thought about going home to his empty house and to working on the case until he fell into bed exhausted, and he decided a row with Malfoy might be preferable to that.

It was almost ten o'clock before he finished for the night. His crossovers with Sue were getting longer and longer as they worked angles together and poured over connections. He was tired and stiff. He hadn’t been sleeping well and it was catching up on him.

He stepped out of Draco's Floo to see the telly on and a blond head over the back of the couch. Draco turned to him at the sound of the Floo flaring, and smiled, though Harry could see a hint of annoyance in his face.  
'Well at least you're not interrupting Scorpius' bedtime tonight,' he said, then paused for a moment, taking in Harry's robes and the tiredness on his face. 'You've not just finished work, have you?' he asked.  
Harry shrugged and Draco rolled his eyes, standing up, muttering under his breath. Harry caught something about 'fucking Ministry imbeciles,' before Draco gestured him to the couch. 'Sit. You want a drink?' Harry let out a deep sigh at the idea. He'd kill for a drink.  
'Beer? Wine? Whisky?' Draco called over his shoulder, already halfway to the kitchen.  
'A beer would be great, thanks,' Harry said, shrugging out of his robes and hanging them over the arm of the chair, before sinking into the couch with another deep sigh, and closing his eyes. 

Gods, but he was tired. Draco's house was warm. It felt friendly. Lived in. It made him realise he hadn’t been to see Ron and Hermione since he'd ended up in St Mungo's a few days ago. He resolved to go by Hermione's office soon, and tee up a time to visit them. He'd have to arrange a day off at some point too. He was rostered twelve days straight. Maybe after that.  
Something cold pressed against his hand and he flinched, opening his eyes, to see Draco looking down at him with concern.  
'Have you eaten?' he asked.  
Harry nodded. He'd picked up some strange clumpy pasta from the canteen warmer at about eight. He'd eaten part of it, anyway.

Draco hummed noncommittally and disappeared back into the kitchen. Harry toed off his boots and put his feet up on the coffee table as he watched the telly, not really taking it in. It was a cooking competition, Muggle, and Harry idly mused about whether Draco found himself a contestant to latch onto and to cheer for, the way he and Ginny had used to.  
It was only a few minutes before Draco was back, handing him a plate with a golden toasted sandwich sitting on it.  
'Thanks,' Harry said, surprised, leaning forward to put his beer on the table before taking a bite. He let out a low moan at the taste. The bread was thick and fluffy. It was a simple ham and cheese, but the ham was smoked, freshly cut from the bone by the looks of it. The cheese was sharp and complemented it perfectly.

Beside him, Draco snorted and Harry looked over.  
'Calm down, Potter,' he said. 'It's just a ham and cheese toastie.' But his cheeks were slightly pink and Harry could tell Draco was pleased he was enjoying it.  
'I need to start coming here for dinner,' he said. 'Cooking for one is rubbish and the canteen food is worse.'  
Draco looked at him oddly for a moment. 'You could,' he said.  
'Could what?' Harry asked, though another mouthful.  
Draco's cheeks reddened a little further but he spoke anyway. 'Could eat here, more often, if you like.' He looked back at the telly and Harry got the idea Draco was avoiding his eyes.  
'I always cook more than we need,' he said, 'And Scorpius seems to find your company tolerable.'

Harry looked at him, surprised by the words, then he let them sink in. He thought about visiting Draco more often, of sharing meals with him and Scorpius … and he found he quite liked the idea. He looked more closely at Draco. He was dressed less casually than he'd been the other night. He had on charcoal trousers and a thin knitted jumper, but he had his legs curled up under him on the other end of the couch. He looked comfortable. Just looking at him made Harry feel more relaxed than he had in days.  
He finished his toastie and put the plate on the table before reaching for his beer again and sitting back, putting his feet up again.

'Thank you,' he said. 'That was delicious.' He deliberately didn't respond to Draco's invitation. Was that what it had been? Or had he just been feeling a bit sorry for Harry, who was clearly rubbish at looking after himself. Whatever it was, the idea raised conflicting emotions in him, not least a longing that was strong enough to surprise him. The idea of sitting here with Draco, watching the telly, sharing a meal, reading to Scorpius again … of having someone to come home to at the end of the day.

He shook himself mentally. What was he thinking? The man had bloody invited him to dinner, not proposed marriage to him. He wouldn't be 'coming home' to Draco. He might just be stopping in occasionally for a meal. As friends. That's what they were now. Friends. The idea felt truer now than it had when Draco had suggested it just a few days earlier, before so many things had changed. 

'So,' Draco said, turning back to him. 'You saw my father today?'  
Harry had planned to tell him that he was being a prat for demanding that the Aurors - that Harry in particular - inform him about whether his father was being visited, but something in Draco's tone stopped him. The man sounded concerned, rather than demanding.  
'We did,' Harry said, waiting to see where Draco wanted to go with it.  
'What did he say?' Draco asked.  
Harry didn't debate whether to tell him for more than a second. Draco was becoming someone he could lean on, someone who could look at ideas with fresh eyes and think of links that he and the members of his Auror force didn't have the background or breeding to see.

Harry thought back to the visit, then shrugged, 'Not much that we didn't already know. Nothing that we didn't already know, actually.'  
Draco frowned and leaned forward. 'No, I meant, I want you to tell me exactly what he said. My father,' he paused, seemingly searching for words. 'He's - there's something not right about him. Since my mother passed-' A shadow of pain crossed Draco's face at these words, and Harry remembered how close they had always seemed.  
'Since she passed, he's been different. He's been … secretive. There are layers to everything he does. There always have been, but sometimes he says things, things that worry me. About the future, and the need for change.'

He looked at Harry and his grey eyes were serious. 'You can't take anything he said at surface value. I just want to help. Please?'  
'Sure,' Harry said, nodding, and then twisting so that he was sitting on the couch, facing Draco, one arm along the back, one leg bent up underneath himself. He racked his brain trying to think back. And then he began to describe how the grounds and Manor had looked and felt, the strangeness of the difference.  
Draco frowned at that. 'I hadn't noticed it being that bad. When I visit it's … not as nice as it used to be, but it's nowhere near as bad as that. I think the house makes an effort for me, but to think things have gotten that bad …' he trailed off, looking lost in thought.

Harry continued, describing Murphy's questioning, all the facts they knew and had confirmed. He mentioned Lucius' seeming lack of concern about the idea that Draco and Scorpius were being targeted. Draco frowned at that.  
'Strange. I think he's written me off, but the way he looks at Scorpius sometimes …' Draco shivered slightly, a haunted look coming into his eyes. 'He treats him like … like Scorpius is this tiny version of himself to be moulded and shaped into what he needs. It's the same way he used to treat me, when I was a boy, before the whole world went to hell. It's not normal.'  
Harry looked at him curiously, the question that had been bugging him drifting back into his mind. 'Why do you take him there then?'

Draco rubbed a hand over his face and up into his hair, mussing up the styled look. Harry watched the path of his hand, and then pulled his eyes back down as Draco began to speak.  
'It's a contract,' he said, and Harry gave him a puzzled look.  
Draco rolled his eyes, not at Harry, seemingly at the whole situation. 'It's a contract my father put in place, to control my access to my inheritance and to the family name. I didn't care much before Scorpius was born … but after that - I won't be the reason he has to go without.'  
'What does the contract say?' Harry asked, still not quite understanding.  
Draco ran his fingers along the hem of his jumper as he spoke. It was a habit Harry had noticed in him at school, the need to fiddle with something when he was upset. It rarely showed on his face.

'I'm obligated to visit him at least once a month, for a minimum of one hour. Scorpius is required to visit twice a year, for a minimum of four hours.' He grimaced. 'I try and make the visits when Scorpius comes too as pleasant as possible, for his sake. But when I have to visit my father by myself … well that brings me back to my original question. What else did he say?'  
Harry looked at Draco a moment longer, thinking about his own father and how much he missed him and wished he could have had him around his whole life to do nothing more than talk to when he pleased. He shrugged the thought off, not wanting to get maudlin. 

'The last thing he talked about,' Harry said, 'was your mother, and the way she loved gardening and would be sad to see the garden removed.'  
Draco's eyes narrowed at this and he leaned forward, all signs of his discomfort at the relationship between he and his father gone. 'He said that?' Draco asked. 'That my mother loved gardening? Loved gardening, not the garden?'  
Harry looked at him, interested in the sudden intensity in his words. He tried to think back to exactly what Lucius Malfoy had said.  
'Yeah, he did,' Harry said slowly. 'He said something like, she had a green thumb and how the garden is wild without her.' He closed his eyes a moment, more of the conversation coming back to him. 'He said he thinks about ripping it out and starting again. But that it's a monument to her.'

He looked at Draco, hesitant about his next words. 'He didn't seem … quite right.'  
Draco took his meaning immediately, shaking his head decisively. 'My father is perfectly sane,' he said. 'It's his ideas that are not. My mother never gardened. Never. She liked to walk in the gardens. She liked to enjoy the gardens. But she never tended them.'  
He bit his lip and Harry felt his eyes straying there for a moment before he pulled them back up to meet Draco's.  
'He said he wanted to rip the garden out and start again?' Draco queried and Harry nodded.  
'It's him,' Draco said, decisively. 'He's the one behind this. He was talking about the pureblood structure. He thinks it's gone wild, polluted. Needs to be purged.'

Harry looked at Draco, stunned by the leap and the certainty in his face. 'You can't know that, from a completely unrelated statement.'  
Draco looked at him, expression dead serious. 'He lied to you, Potter. He lied to your face because he thinks he's smarter than you and wanted to show it off. He's behind this. I know it.'

Harry looked at Draco, his mind racing as he took in the words, the implications of them. He spread his hands helplessly. 'Say you're right. I can't go to the Minister and say, a crazy old recluse who has been locked in his home for twelve years and has all his visitors and mail monitored did this. We know because he talked about changing his garden.'

Draco looked frustrated, but he bit his lip again, seeming to concede the point.  
'Okay. So you agree that he's behind this?' Draco asked raising an eyebrow.  
'I agree that he _could be_ behind this, but I don't see how,' Harry said.  
Draco shrugged. 'So we just figure out how. What do you know so far?'  
Harry took another swig of his beer, then began to speak.

\-----

Harry was tired the next morning, but feeling more energised than he had in days. He'd stayed past midnight at Draco's house, talking through ideas and angles with him. They'd talked about pureblood traditions and society and the way things had changed in the last few years. The conversation had been quick, each of them jumping in with ideas and questions. Harry had been impressed by Draco's depth of knowledge, not just about his own family's background, but about many of the other families and what stances they'd taken on certain political issues over time.

They'd puzzled over how Lucius could be involved in the recent attacks when he was locked inside the Manor. They'd narrowed their suspicions down to one thing. The letters. It was his only link to the outside world.

Harry looked up from his desk to see Mrs. Norris escorting Draco into his office and grinned. Draco smiled back, looking around. His happiness dimmed slightly as he noticed the piles of boxes reaching up to the ceiling.  
'This is all of them?' he asked.  
Harry shook his head, his grin widening. He couldn't help himself.  
'One of the boxes contains about the same as what you see here, just shrunken.'  
Draco blanched slightly and then sighed. 'My fucking father. If there's one thing he's not, it's succinct.' Then he looked around the room. 'Where do you want me?'

Harry had a flash of memory of asking Ladon the same thing, and of what had followed. The thought sent a tingle of arousal through him, which he tried to suppress. He shouldn't be thinking of Ladon now. It had been days since he'd had time to do more than breathe, let alone sort out the complicated mess of feelings he had for the man.  
And he especially shouldn't be thinking of Ladon with Malfoy standing right in front of him, his cheeks pinkening slightly as though he'd also realised how his words could have been taken. Harry couldn't help the way his gaze lingered on Draco for a moment, taking in the lean lines of his body, the confidence in his posture. For a second he imagined it was Draco holding him down, working him open.  
The mental image made heat burn through him and he caught his breath. _Fuck_ , he thought, realisation shooting through him. _I'm attracted to Draco Malfoy._

He looked away, gesturing to the small desk in the corner of his office and clearing his throat.  
'Here, if that's okay. The bullpen is crazy right now. We've called in teams from across the country and it's two to a desk. We've taken over half the bloody meeting rooms in the building, too.'  
'Fine,' Draco said, turning to the desk, and slipping his robes off to hang them over the back of the chair. He wore a pale blue button up shirt and trousers underneath and Harry caught himself staring at his arse as Draco bent to collect the first box.

He pulled his eyes away as Draco sat at the desk and settled in. Harry busied himself with the reports in front of him, ignoring the shuffling movements as Draco shifted things around and made himself comfortable. The night before, it had seemed like the perfect solution - have Draco go through all his father's correspondence. He could look for things that seemed out of place, or had a meaning none of them were seeing.

Now, in light of his sudden realisation, he wondered just what he had let himself in for.  
'It's going to take me a week to get through all of these,' Draco said, opening the first box and moving a thick sheaf of papers to his desk.  
Harry looked across at him, remembering for the first time that Draco had a job, and a son to care for.  
'We can pay you,' he said, 'As a consultant. I have extra budget on this case.'  
Draco waved him off, eyes already scanning down the first page before putting it to one side.  
'It's fine,' he said. 'I don't need the money and things are quiet with the Society now at the moment anyway.' He looked up at Harry. 'People are scared. A lot have left London. Some have left the country altogether.'

Harry nodded, they'd been keeping track of all of the people on the list of targets. Every person who left was one less they had to resource protection for.  
Draco looked back down at the letters in his hands, 'We just need to find something to link it all together, and then you can put a stop to this.'

They worked well together. It was nice somehow, having someone else in his space. It made him realise how much he missed having a partner to work beside since he'd moved into the Head Auror position and been sequestered in his office.

Harry stepped in and out during the day for meetings and briefings, but Draco was always there when he returned, the boxes moving, one by one, to the other side of the room. There was a pile of papers on Draco's desk, things he'd removed from the boxes, but it was slim and when Harry queried him about it, Draco merely shook his head, stating it was nothing worth talking about yet. Just a possibility.

Harry stopped by the canteen on his way back from a team briefing and picked up two roast beef and salad sandwiches and a coffee for each of them.  
Draco was deep in thought when Harry entered his office. His hair was messier than normal, as though he'd been running his hands through it. He'd rolled his sleeves up and Harry was surprised to see the Mark on his arm, surprised that Draco would allow him to see it. From what he had observed, he didn't uncover it anywhere, except in his own home.  
Draco looked up and caught him staring. His eyes tightened. 'It's hot in here,' he said. 'I'll cover it, if it bothers you.'

Harry considered it for a moment, eyes tracing the faded grey skull and snake. Draco's fingers twitched, as though he wanted to move his arm from the table, hide the evidence of his past failings. But he didn't.  
'No,' Harry said. 'It doesn't bother me.' He was surprised to find it was true. The Mark was just a mark, a symbol. It was the intent behind the symbol that had always bothered him - the hatred and violence that he fought against.  
'You'll be here for a while,' he said. 'You should be comfortable.'  
He walked to Draco's desk and handed him the sandwich and a coffee. Draco looked up at him, grey eyes holding a depth of feeling.  
'Thank you,' he said, and Harry knew it was for far more than the lunch.

\-----

That was how the next few days went. Draco worked with him in his office, the list of papers he kept aside growing steadily higher as he scribbled down notes and thoughts, muttering to himself occasionally, in French and English. He started bringing in books - classics, histories, musicals, and leaving them in haphazard piles on the desk, flicking them open to check something before snorting and muttering to himself again.  
Harry just watched him sometimes, watched how single-minded he was in his pursuit of the answer. Sometimes he watched the grace of his movements, or the way he chewed his lip when he wrote. Sometimes he watched Draco's long fingers skimming over a page and wondered what it would feel like to have them running over his body.

He tried not to think things like that. Tried to focus on the case and on the fact that they had only just become friends and that he had no desire to ruin that. But now that he'd allowed himself to admit that he could imagine being with Draco, the thought continued to taunt him, niggling at the back of his mind.  
Sometimes he would feel eyes on him as he worked, and would look up to see Draco's gaze shifting back to his letters. He wondered what Draco was thinking, when he watched Harry.

Draco left every day at five to collect Scorpius from his school care, but Harry was surprised when he came in on Saturday as well.  
'Shouldn't you be at home?' he asked, when Draco walked in and hung his robes up, dropping Harry's lunch on his desk. He'd flat out refused to eat more of the Ministry food after his first taste of it, and had been bringing lunch in for them every day since. Harry hadn't been so consistently well fed since his Hogwarts days. He and Ginny both used to cook, but it had been more of a grab something from the shops on the way home and throw together a meal type set up. Leftovers was takeaway just as often as not - this … Harry could tell Malfoy planned for what he cooked, and took time and care in it.  
'Hmm?' Draco said, already picking up the next pile of letters and scanning through them.  
'Isn't Scorpius at home today?' Harry asked.

Draco looked over, shaking his head. 'No, he's at Pansy's. Her parents are watching him.'  
Harry looked at him, slightly concerned. 'Is that the safest place for him?' he asked.  
Draco nodded. 'I've warded it so bloody tight it may as well be the Manor. No one gets in and out without the inhabitants' express say so. And they know what’s going on. They won't let anyone near him.'  
Draco seemed comfortable, so Harry let it drop and they got back to work. Throughout the day, he stopped in to inform Draco of the latest theories and evidence drops. They had a team working the Lucius angle, but without proof, they couldn't move forward. Instead they were focussing their attention on trying to track accomplices. There had to be people on the outside casting the spells and setting up the attacks.

Every time Draco found a new name in the letters, he would release it to Harry with a summary of the relationship between the person and his father, insofar as he knew it. They'd pulled in eleven people so far, but no one had seemed to be connected.

Harry came back to his office for lunch. He normally had it on the run between meetings, but the last few days he'd made the time to sit with Draco and eat. He figured it was the least he could do - the man was bringing him amazing food each day.  
He opened the container and the warming charm released a burst of steam. He breathed in the smell of the lasagne and gave a low moan.  
Across the office, Draco snorted. 'It's just leftovers, Potter. You'd think you'd never been fed before, the way you carry on.' 

Harry considered laughing it off, but he and Draco had been talking more and more these last few days. Little things, about friends and interests and deeper things, like his divorce from Ginny and how their relationship had changed over time. It was nice, to be able to talk to someone who wasn't friends with his almost ex-wife, to just be able to speak honestly about what had happened and why. It was helping him move on, mentally, from the idea of his failed marriage.

'I wasn't,' he said, glancing across at Draco and then down at the food in front of him, picking up a forkful, but not bringing it to his mouth.  
'Wasn't what?' Draco asked, after he'd swallowed and dabbed at his lips.  
'Fed,' Harry said. 'Most of my childhood, I ate what was left off my cousin's plate, or what I thought I could sneak from the fridge or cupboard with no one noticing. One piece here, a few mouthfuls there.'

He glanced across at Draco again to see him staring directly over at him, the look on his face unreadable. Harry thought it almost looked like anger, but that couldn't be right. Why would something like that make Draco angry?  
'The Muggles that raised you, starved you?' he asked, voice hard.  
Harry shrugged. 'I mean, not starved. I ate. But I never got to choose what I wanted to eat, or got to have as much of it as I wanted.' He gave a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. 'That was one of my favourite things about Hogwarts. There was so much food, all the time.'  
Draco didn't laugh back. He was still looking at Harry with that look of concern on his face. 'What you said, in the bus that day, about being put in a cupboard. That was true too, wasn't it?'

Harry felt a start of surprise that Draco had remembered that. He'd said it without thinking. His head had been all over the place from the scene he'd done with Ladon. He certainly hadn't expected Draco to remember the words.  
He nodded slowly.  
Draco's face darkened. 'Those Muggles were your family? Your aunt and uncle?'  
Harry nodded again. Draco's hands clenched into fists. 'Were they ever brought to account for what they did to you?'  
Harry shrugged. 'It was a long time ago.'  
'You were a child,' Draco said. 'No one should be able to do things like that to children.'

Draco's face was going from angry to upset, as he flicked the quill in his hands against his fingers. Harry stood up and crossed the room to him, leaning back against the desk beside him. Draco leaned his chair back slightly to look up at Harry.  
'It was a long time ago,' Harry said again. 'I try not to think about it.'  
Draco shook his head. 'That's not fair,' he said. 'People should pay for what they did. They should have to make amends for the pain they cause.'  
Harry was struck suddenly by a realisation so strong that he was amazed he hadn't seen it before.  
'Is that why you do it?' he asked. 'The Society? To make amends for what you did?'

Draco's hand came up to cover his arm, where the Dark Mark was on show. He rubbed over it, a look of sadness coming over his face. 'It's a way of trying. I know I can't, not really.'  
Harry thought about what Draco had done during his life. Thought about taunts and sneers, thought about Ron and Hermione's pain and that of so many others during school. He thought of having a boot driven into his face, Ron and Katie's near-deaths. He thought of the vanishing cabinet and the night of terror that had led to Dumbledore's death.

He looked at Draco's hunched posture and the guilt that radiated from him, and he remembered grey eyes with a light of recognition in them. He remembered not being outed - not being killed at the Manor. He remembered Draco's tears and his anguish in the bathroom, his grimness all through sixth year as he struggled with a task he clearly didn't want.  
Harry remembered Ladon's words suddenly, as he'd comforted Harry, after he'd stripped his soul bare and let all the guilt run out. He remembered being told he didn’t have to carry that pain. That it was okay. That he could let go.

Harry looked down at Draco, then reached out to still his hand as he flicked the quill again and again. He felt the tingle of magic sparking between them as their skin touched, and then it dropped into a comforting murmur over him.  
Harry thought about the research he'd done into the Society - the lives they'd changed, the laws they'd reformed, the way they were helping to rebuild the world into a better place.  
'You've paid,' Harry said, when Draco looked up to meet his eyes. 'All the things you've done - you've paid for the pain.'  
Draco looked at him like he didn't believe the words, but he turned his hand so that his own clasped with Harry's. The grip was tight, like he didn't want to let go.

\-----

Harry dropped into Hermione's office later that night, after Draco had gone home to Scorpius. She'd been working long hours lately too and he wasn't surprised to see she was still in. 

She looked up at him with a weary smile, putting down her quill and getting up to give him a hug. 'Do you want a cup of tea?' she asked, 'I could do with a break.'  
Harry nodded and they made their way down to the canteen, sitting in a quiet corner. There weren't too many people around at this time of night. The lack of bustle and noise was soothing. Harry felt like he'd been rushing forward for days, without having the time to take a breath.  
'How are you?' Hermione said, looking at him with concern. 'You look tired. Have you been back to St Mungo's to have your magic levels tested?'  
Harry rolled his eyes slightly as he nodded yes. She scrunched her nose up at him, but said, 'You know I worry. Especially since you're alone now. These current cases, I can't imagine you're sleeping much?'

Harry shrugged, knowing there was no point in telling her otherwise. 'I'm doing the best I can. We need to get this solved. The panic is getting worse.'  
Hermione sighed, 'I know. We have three bills. One is the Magical Muggle Education Reform Bill. It was supposed to pass in January. We had all the votes we needed. Now, suddenly it's being sent for review. I could murder Rita Skeeter.'  
Harry nodded. 'Tell me about it. I've got teams dealing with Muggle-baiting almost daily. It reminds me of the World Cup - you remember? The way those Death Eaters dangled that Muggle family in the sky, just because they could.' Hermione frowned as she thought back.  
'The same thing is happening now - not to that level, yet - but we have ordinary witches and wizards descending to cruel pranks. I get that they're scared and want to fight back but -'  
Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

There was a sense of growing fear - panic in some places - centred around London, but spreading out from there. Harry had recalled most of the teams in smaller country towns to help with the multi-pronged attack. He had people hunting their suspects, working a rolling protective grid for the identified targets, combing through both scenes and the Muggle victims' (as they were referring to them now) homes and running patrols in areas where magical and Muggle communities regularly came in contact.

They hadn't had to stop any outright altercations, but the _Prophet_ was printing increasingly outlandish stories about crazed Muggles with vendettas against wizardkind who were hell-bent on ridding the world of magic. They were marketing it as this century's witch hunts. Harry was tempted to release their list of suspects to curb some of the hysteria and take the focus off the Muggles, but they hadn't managed to track Rudolf Avery down and Harry didn't want him spooked in case he was connected to Lucius somehow.

'Anyway,' he said. 'I didn’t come to talk work. I just wanted to say hi. See how you all were. I'm working through to next Friday at this stage, but I might come by on the weekend if I can manage to keep it clear?'  
'That sounds great,' Hermione said. 'We're fine. Same old, apart from me not being home much, Ron has everything in hand, you know how he is.'  
Harry nodded and Hermione asked, 'What's happening with you and Ginny?'  
Harry remembered the papers that were sitting in his study at home. He hadn't had two minutes to look at them.

'Divorce has been filed,' he said. 'I just need to do my part of it. I haven't talked to her - haven't talked to anyone, really, except Draco, I've been flat out with the case.'  
Hermione looked at him, surprise in her face. 'Draco?'  
Harry nodded before he realised what he'd said. Then he stopped, wondering when in the hell he'd started to think of Malfoy as Draco.  
'Draco Malfoy?' Hermione said again. 'You've been talking with him?'  
'Yeah,' he said, feeling unaccountably flustered. 'He's consulting with us, on the case. Giving us info about pureblood stuff.' He thought about mentioning the link between Lucius Malfoy and the case, but decided against it, not in the canteen anyway. It was a connection they didn’t want made public yet.

'Hmm,' Hermione said, watching him closely. 'You went to his New Years party as well.'  
Harry shrugged, 'We're friends now … sort of.' He wondered what she would say to that - wondered what Ron would say to that when Hermione told him.  
'A couple of months ago, you thought he was using the Pureblood Society for his own means,' she said, the question clear in her voice.  
Harry thought back. It had only been a few months. So much had changed in that time.  
'He's changed,' Harry said. 'He's not the same person he used to be.'  
Hermione continued to watch him for a long moment, and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that she was seeing more than what he'd said. But she simply nodded, as though accepting his words.

'I'm glad you dropped by, actually,' Hermione said, changing the topic to Harry's relief. Her next words brought that relief crashing down. 'I've been doing some research.' She pulled her wand and cast a Silencio, despite the fact that there were only two other people in the canteen, then leaned forward, 'about what happened at the New Years party.'  
Harry never liked when Hermione had that look on her face. It was a mixture of concern and excitement, that something new and previously untested was happening.  
'At the time, I thought what you did breached Myrdin's Law, and I was right. It's why we use time turners.' Hermione looked at Harry's blank face and took a breath.  
'Myrdin's Law is the fundamental law of conservation of magical energy in a time continuum. It's -' she groped for words. 'It's basically the law that magic can only work in a forward-moving time field, unless governed by an object that is fixed in time, like a Time-Turner. So I was thinking - how could you possibly have done what you did? It's not just the power that is unheard of - it's the physical inability for a human being to be able to channel a temporal field and to … reverse it.'

Harry had a feeling he wasn't going to like whatever conclusion she had come to.  
Hermione leaned forward further. 'You don't have the stone anymore, do you? The Resurrection Stone?'  
Harry started, to hear words that hadn't been spoken in over ten years. He shook his head. 'I left it in the forest. You know that.'  
'And the Elder Wand?'  
Harry frowned, not liking where she was going with this. 'It's with Dumbledore. You were with me when we put it back.'

Hermione leaned back in her seat, that strange mix of excitement and concern on her face.  
'I don't think they know that you gave them up, Harry. I think the Hallows still consider you to be their master. It's the only thing I can think of - only something that is outside of time can interfere in its flow. Something like a Time-Turner, which captures the very essence of time …' She paused, taking a deep breath and looking him in the eyes. 'Or someone who has been Master of Death.'  
Harry shook his head immediately. 'No,' he said, and his tone was almost pleading. 'No, that's done. We agreed. It's over.'

Hermione just looked at him, her eyes sympathetic. 'It's the only thing I can think of that makes sense,' she said.  
'But,' Harry said, 'Why now? It's been years. Nothing even close to this has happened before.'  
Hermione just looked at him, considering the question. 'Things have changed lately,' she said. 'I don't know what exactly, but you seem different, more alert - no, that's the wrong word. More _focussed_ than you have in a long time. You seem … I don't know how to describe it.'

Harry thought about her words. He thought about what had changed. What he had learned about himself, accepted about himself, forgiven himself for. He thought about how he felt sometimes, lately, that he was seeing the world anew, bright and vivid, where before it had been hidden under the blanket of the every-day.  
He wondered if maybe he was re-setting his life, in some ways. Starting back at how he should have been after the war. The choices he should have made. The directions he should have followed. The thought was a heady one, but terrifying in its possibilities.

He wondered if what Hermione said could be right, if he was still the Master of Death. If he'd just buried the possibility of it inside layer upon layer of rejection and self-doubt and guilt.  
The thought made him think of Ladon again, made him think of the complex spiral of events that had changed his life over the past few months.  
He thought of the truths he'd realised under Ladon's hands, the needs he'd accepted in himself, the forgiveness he'd allowed himself to have.

He thought again of the way they'd left things. Ladon telling him they couldn't - that there was nothing for them outside of the club. Thought of the growing attraction he was feeling to Draco, which he had no idea how to manage. 

Finally, he thought of how it felt to have all of that taken away - the case, the confusion of his feelings, the fear of what this new possibility might mean - to face the idea, again that the Hallows might continue to direct his life.

Suddenly he craved release from all of it. He'd been putting off seeing Ladon again, because of how things had played out the last time they'd been together. But now … now awkwardness be damned. Harry wanted to forget.

\-----

Draco was at Release when he received the owl. The wards in the back office alerted him to its presence, and he spent a long time staring at the piece of paper in his hand.

_Can I see you?_  
_HP_

He didn't know what to write back. He knew what he _should_ write, but what he wanted to write was pushing itself so much harder into his mind. He stuffed the piece of paper into his pocket and returned to the public room. He had a new dom to oversee, and after that, he needed to double-check the month's accounts.  
It was close to ten when he was done, and he pulled the note back out of his pocket, looking at Harry's messy scrawl.

He'd seen him just five hours earlier - he'd spent most of the damned day with him, in his office, going slowly mad from the proximity, and from the looks Harry kept sending him in a way he no doubt thought was subtle. He didn't know what to make of Harry's possible interest. He couldn't _do_ anything about it. Things were already far too messy.  
He thought about what had happened last time Harry had been in the club. He thought about how Harry felt under his hands, the taste of him, the sounds he made as he came blissfully apart. He could feel himself getting hard and he tried to control it.  
He couldn't - he hadn't told Harry who he was. He couldn't have sex with him again - couldn’t continue this façade that Ladon could be someone Harry could have in his life.  
He thought he'd made that clear, when they'd parted - when Harry had looked at him with eyes so full of need and want.

So much had changed since then - everything was different. He thought of New Years - the awesome power he'd seen Harry wield, like an avenging god. Draco had always had a thing for power - maybe it was bred into him. Harry's casual, wandless magic was one thing. He was doing it more and more around the office they now shared, and it was driving Draco slowly insane with wanting.  
But that - that display had been something altogether different. He still remembered the feeling of raw power - like the fabric of reality was being pulled apart around them. He'd been afraid, for a moment, but then Harry had fallen to his knees, blood dripping from his nose, and all Draco could think was to get him to help - to get him to safety.

He'd taken a second, just a second, to see that Pansy and Blaise were okay - he didn’t know if he would ever get the image of them being engulfed by flames out of his mind. Then he had left, taking Harry to anyone who could help him.

Draco remembered Harry in the hospital, the playfulness on his face, then the tender care he took reading to Scorpius, his exhaustion as he collapsed onto Draco's couch, and the never-ending drive and authority he commanded at work.

In the end, there was only one thing Draco could write back.

 _I'm at the club now, if you're still up. Otherwise I'm free tomorrow night._  


He wanted to put his own initials, to end the lie, but in the end he put _SL_ and sent the owl.

He went to the front desk to check in with Dahlia - to wait for Harry, if he was honest. He had a feeling she could see right through him. He hadn't done a scene with a sub in weeks - since Harry had left. The grin that she shot him when Harry walked through the door was both triumphant and mocking.  
Draco let himself look - really look - at Harry in a way he couldn't when he wore his own face. Harry looked tired, but strong, restless, as though he couldn't settle in his own skin. Draco wondered what had changed after he'd left for the day.  
Harry had seemed okay then, certainly there had been nothing to put this fierce, hungry look on his face. Draco felt his resolve wavering. Gods but he wanted Harry. He wanted to sink himself inside him again and lose them both in the ecstasy of it.

Harry approached him and Draco nodded his head towards the main doors. He hadn’t quite decided what they might do tonight. He thought back to everything Harry had seen and done in the last few weeks and he had some ideas about what he might need. But Harry reached out a hand, letting it drop just before touching him.  
'Can we talk first, please?' he asked, voice low. Draco looked at him, surprised. Harry had been willing to sit back every other time they'd interacted - to let Draco take the lead.  
'Of course,' he said, leading them into the blue room, the first he had met Harry in, when he'd come on his misguided investigation. He gestured him to a table, then sat opposite him.  
Now that they were here, Harry looked as if he wasn't quite sure what to say.

'I didn’t know if you would come back,' Draco said. Ladon's voice coming out of his mouth sounded strange to his ears, when he'd been talking to Harry all week as himself.  
'I didn't either,' Harry said, conflicting emotions running across his face.  
Draco looked at him, a hundred questions running through his mind, but he settled on the only one that mattered.  
'Why did you?'  
Harry hesitated, piercing green eyes darting up to meet Draco's before he dropped them back to his hands. He looked … ashamed, as though what he was about to say shouldn't be said.

'I - I needed to,' Harry said at last. 'So much has happened. My life is … complicated right now.' Draco looked at him, the desire to tell Harry he knew exactly what had happened and that he was here for him, to support him through it, rising in his throat until it nearly choked him. He felt like both of his worlds were colliding until the lines between Draco Malfoy and Samael Ladon were irrevocably blurring. He couldn't tell Harry. All that would do was drive him away. He couldn't give Harry what he needed if he left.  
'What do you need?' he asked instead.

'I need …' Harry licked his lips and tried again. 'I want - what we had. I want it again.' Draco could see the struggle it took for Harry to ask for that. To ask for what he wanted for no other reason than that he wanted it. A part of him marvelled at how different Harry was from just a few months earlier, when he was so wrapped up inside the wrongness of his life that he couldn't even see what he needed, let alone ask for it. A part of him was so damned _proud_ of Harry.  
The other part of him felt sick at himself for the twisted game he was playing.  
'Why do you want that?' he asked instead. He needed to get to the heart of it. Needed to make Harry see that what he was chasing was empty - not real.

He thought of their conversation a few nights ago, about his father and the double meanings behind all of his words. Guilt and self-loathing filled him. Was he any better? Leading Harry around, holding all the cards while he held none.

Harry's face was red now, but he answered, his voice quiet. He was so good, it made Draco ache. The way he took off his protection, piece by piece, took away the power and the Auror and the Chosen One, and put himself in Draco's hands. No _Ladon's_ hands, he reminded himself fiercely.  
'I want to be wanted,' Harry said, quietly. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. His last words were barely a whisper. 'I want to be loved.'

Draco felt his heart break at that. He wanted to gather Harry in his arms, to hold him tight and tell him he _was_ loved. He had so many beautiful people around him. Draco looked at Harry, while he wore another man's face, and wanted to tell him that _he_ loved him. That somehow, in taking him apart and looking inside his soul, Draco had fallen in love with what he saw there. He'd fallen so hard and so fast that he would never recover from it. But he knew that those very words would be the ones that destroyed everything - that would make it so Harry could never be his. And he couldn't bring himself to utter them.  
Instead he said what he needed to say. He forced every single ounce of that feeling down and used his years of training at the hands of his father to control his voice.

'I can't love you, Harry,' he said. 'I'm not real. Samael Ladon is _not real_. You know this. You can't be with me outside of the club. You can't share my life. I don't have one.'  
Draco looked at Harry's face, at the heartbreaking acceptance he saw on it. He watched Harry's hand come up to the simple leather cord Draco had wrapped around his throat a month before, because he hadn't been able to bear seeing him walk in beside his wife - because he had wanted to do something to show that Harry was his, even if he was the only one who would ever know.  
Harry touched it all the time, without even realising it. Draco watched him, in their shared office, and tried to ignore the things he'd done to Harry while he was wearing Ladon's collar.

He ripped his eyes away from Harry's neck and forced himself to continue speaking. He couldn't bear to see Harry in pain, so he offered the only thing he could. He knew if he was a better person, he would make it a clean break, turn Harry away and end this. But Harry's need was in every line of his body, and Draco's couldn't help but respond.  
'I can only do one thing for you,' he said, and Harry looked up, the hope in his gaze almost painful in its intensity. 'I can help you to go to that place where all of this doesn't matter for a while.'

Harry caught his breath and Draco felt his whole being reach out in answer to the want in his eyes. He needed this as much as Harry did, he knew, but in some ways that made him feel worse.

In the end it was a simple thing between them. Like the steps of a remembered dance. Harry's eyes had lit upon on the collar as soon as they entered the room, and Draco could see the yearning written all over him.  
He marvelled again at the incredible power that lived inside Harry's body, and wondered how he managed to hold it all inside without ripping himself apart.

When Draco tightened the collar around his neck, Harry shuddered out a deep breath and closed his eyes, his entire body relaxing. Draco felt honoured, that Harry trusted him so much that he would let Draco take away such a force. Then he felt sick again at the way he was betraying that trust.

He put that from his mind. He put it all from his mind. He needed to be Ladon. He needed to take control, to be strong, for Harry. So he could give him what he needed. Harry was the only one who mattered. 

He knew that this was going to tear him to pieces, but maybe that pain would help to pay for his sins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys blew me away on the last chapter. I couldn't believe how many gorgeous comments I got. Thank you so, so much.
> 
> Please, please continue to say hi and tell me what you think. I love it so much. <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty full on. I want to give a trigger warning for memories and discussions of past child abuse. If you want the chapter with that bit removed, email me at quicksilvermaid@gmail.com and I'd be happy to send it.  
> It's not graphic, and not sexual, but might be upsetting.

Harry walked into work the next day feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time. Memories of the night before kept running through his mind. What they had done had been different again. Ladon hadn't touched him, not once, but what they had done … He thought of Ladon's voice as he told Harry to strip. To kneel. To wait. He felt arousal flicker through him again.

He'd sunk so easily into that space, into the place where he could let go of everything and just focus on feeling - where he could let Ladon make the decisions and the choices and all he had to do was be good.  
There was so much resting on him now - so much pressure, so many choices, so much need to figure things out before it was too late - before the attacks happened again. But last night, to be able to be just Harry, to be able to lose himself in the release Ladon offered him … even with the edge of bitterness over it, that he knew he could have nothing more than those moments in time. It had been bliss. 

Harry had meetings until eleven, but when he got back to his office, Draco was there as always, robes hung on the hook beside Harry. His shirt was a pale grey today, open at the neck and rolled up to his elbows. Harry paused in the doorway for a moment, just watching him. Draco lost himself in his work so easily and Harry had found himself stealing glances at him more and more lately.  
Then Draco looked up and the expression on his face wasn't the normal, easy smile they'd been sharing lately. His gaze was intense and there was an edge to it that spoke of heat and hunger. But before Harry could process it, it was gone and Draco was looking down at his papers again with a muttered good morning.

Harry went to his desk, shifting the top layer of his filing tower onto it with a thud and a wince. He'd been letting things pile up. Just because they had a high-profile case that was taking the majority of the department's resources didn't mean that the rest of the normal workload had ceased. He began reviewing and signing off on the case sheets Jones and Johnson had sent in for him over the last two weeks.  
He was deep in thought when Draco said his name. Harry looked up, and Draco gestured him over. 'I want to show you something.'

Harry moved over beside him, looking down at the piles of paperwork on his desk. Draco glanced up at him from his chair and then gestured at the papers.  
'I've reviewed the last eight years of my father's correspondence,' he said, then waved at the remaining dozen boxes against the wall. 'I don't think we need to go back further. Everything I'm turning up from back then is leading to dead ends.'  
Harry nodded. Most of the latest people they'd looked into had turned out to be overseas or long dead.  
'Look here,' Draco said, indicating one of the pieces of paper. Harry leaned down, putting one hand on the back of Draco's chair and the other on his desk. 

He pretended he didn't hear the catch in Draco's breath and tried to ignore the way the position brought him so close to Draco that Harry could smell him, something clean and fresh and tantalisingly familiar.  
Draco cleared his throat and pointed to the letter again. 'Over a two year period, my father received a large amount of correspondence that is signed off by someone called _l'héritier_ ', he paused and twisted slightly, in a movement that brought his shoulder in contact with Harry's arm and his face disconcertingly close.  
Harry tried not to react to the way Draco's eyes widened slightly, or the way his gaze dropped - an infinitesimal flicker towards Harry's lips before he pulled his expression into his customarily annoyed scowl.

'I don't know who you have screening mail from convicted criminals, but this person calls themselves "The Heir". That alone should have been a warning flag for someone who was corresponding with a pureblood supremacist, no?'  
Harry shrugged slightly, his awareness on the heat of the contact of Draco's back against his arm, and on how easily he could lean in and capture his mouth in a kiss. Then he thought of the night before, and thought of wearing Ladon's collar and begging Ladon to let him come, and he stood back up slightly, breaking the contact.

'The letters were screened extensively for the first five years or so,' he said, striving to make his voice professional - authoritative. Draco frowned slightly and Harry wondered what he was thinking. He continued speaking. 'Nothing changed though, nothing happened. In the end I assume his threat level was downgraded. I'm pretty sure it's one of the Junior Auror jobs nowadays. I don’t think it's been given much attention for years.'

Draco turned back to the letters. 'That's pretty clear. The Heir, whoever he is, has been getting more and more blatant in his communication. They started out a few years ago, couching their correspondence in reflections on the masters -' he paused at Harry's confused look.  
'It's what the founders of the sacred twenty-eight are sometimes called. They were a bunch of old blood-purists in the thirteen hundreds who banded together with ideals about retaining the magical line. It was during the days of the Inquisition. It actually made sense then -'  
At Harry's sharp look, Draco stopped. 'Seriously, Potter - still? It made sense because Muggles were hunting magical folk and murdering them, and so sharing the secret of your magic with a Muggle was a probable death sentence. That's why. Not …' Draco took a deep breath.

'Anyway, they talked about the masters a lot, quoted old passages to each other, that sort of thing. Dry as dust, most of it. Some of it's even in Latin.' He rolled his eyes. 'Let it not be said my father isn't pretentious as fuck.'  
Draco gestured at another letter, 'Here is where it gets interesting. About a year and a half ago they start to talk about modern families - none of it is obvious at first, of course. The Carrows are referred to as the gamesters - that's the origin of the surname,' he said, pre-empting Harry's question. 'And so on. They talk, over two or three months about which are strong and which are weak.'  
He handed Harry a sheaf of papers. 'I've summarised it all. It would be a good idea to cross-reference your list of targets against it, to make sure none have been left off.'  
Harry glanced down at the papers and then back at Draco, his mind fully on the case.

'In the last twelve months, they start to talk more about the Master - singular. It’s what most of His - Voldemort's - followers used to call him.' Draco picked up another letter, handing it to Harry. He'd circled a passage and Harry skimmed over it.

_Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,_  
_Round the corner. Through the first gate,_  
_Into our first world, shall we follow_  
_The deception of the thrush? Into our first world._  
_There they were, dignified, invisible,_  
_Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,_  
_In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,_  
_And the bird called, in response to_  
_The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,_  
_And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses_  
_Had the look of flowers that are looked at._  
_There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting._

'This is where they started to plan it, I think,' Draco said, leaning back in his chair. 'See the references to being unseen and unheard, to seeking and to those who are accepting?'  
Harry looked at the words, reading them but not seeing the meaning in them that Draco did. He looked down at Draco and took stock of the certainty in his eyes and the intelligence burning there.  
'Okay,' he said simply. 'So how to we find "The Heir"?'

Draco sighed at that, flipping through his papers until he held up a sheet with a few points written on it. 'This is all I have.'  
Harry took it and read though.  
\- pureblood  
\- young (?)  
\- male

'That's … not much of a profile,' he said, frowning at the piece of paper.  
'I know,' Draco said with another sigh. 'You could add intelligent. He's incredibly good at keeping information about himself hidden.'  
'Right,' Harry said, taking the list and the summary notes Draco had handed him. 'I need to pass this stuff on. Can we arrange for you to join the morning debrief tomorrow? I want you to update the whole team on what you just told me.'  
Draco looked hesitant for a moment, and Harry was reminded that he still kept his contact with the rest of the Auror department minimal, despite having been working there for over a week now.

The day passed quickly. Draco called Harry over twice more to look at a letter, or a connection or a pattern, and each time Harry found himself wanting to touch and wanting to move closer. He had a feeling Draco wanted that too, though he never initiated anything. He seemed to be holding himself back. It was enough to make Harry hesitate. That, combined with the fact that less than twenty four hours earlier he had submitted himself to another man. And just before that, he'd begged Ladon to want him, and to love him. All of that made him reconsider why he wanted Draco, and whether he was just rebounding from Ladon's rejection onto the nearest person he was attracted to.

Still, the constant proximity to Draco had him on edge all day and he took himself home that night with arousal still simmering low in his body. He'd been ignoring it since Draco left at five, pushing it down and away, but the moment Harry clocked off, it came rushing back full force. He flooed home and took his time heading upstairs, making himself a light sandwich and drinking a cup of tea. He was hard, but if there was one thing he'd learned from Ladon, it was that delay could make the reward so much sweeter.  
In his room, he undressed, deciding he could do with a shower. He ignored his jutting cock for all but the briefest moment as he washed over it with a soapy fist. He wanted to fuck into it quick and hard, but he forced himself to stop.

A rough dry and a quick brush of his teeth and he was stretching out naked on top of his bed. He cast a warming charm to take the chill out of the air and then dimmed the lights. He lay there for a moment, every part of his body feeling sensitive and on display. He let his mind drift to how it would feel to be on display for real, to have others watch as Ladon took him to pieces. He felt a flicker of interest at the idea and he closed his eyes, bringing his fingers to his lips and brushing lightly over them. He imagined they were Ladon's fingers - Ladon's lips - brushing his.  
He imagined faceless people watching as he was stretched out naked and he let his fingers slip into his mouth, sucking lightly on them. He hadn't tasted Ladon, but he wanted to.

He brought his other hand up to his chest, bringing his knees up and then dropping them apart, spreading his legs as he brushed his fingertips over his collarbone, trailing down to his nipple, circling around it. It was already hard and peaked, sensitive as he grazed around it. He sucked his fingers, swirling his tongue over them and then he pinched lightly at his nipple. He didn't try to hide the groan that dropped from his mouth at the feeling. He did it again and again, harder each time, feeling pleasure tingle through him.  
He could feel precome sliding down the side of his cock and he pictured what the imaginary people watching him were thinking, seeing his legs spread wide, dripping with arousal as he was teased.

He dragged his fingers out of his mouth and down to his chest, fingers slick and wet against his skin as he pinched and teased at both nipples. He groaned again, wanting to be touched, wanting more. But he knew Ladon wouldn't give it to him. He'd made Harry beg the night before as well. And he had loved it. He had loved being totally under Ladon's control. He wished he could tie his arms and still touch himself. The idea of being bound right now - helpless - made his cock jerk and another drip of precome slide down his shaft. He could do his legs, he realised. 

Almost before the thoughts had registered, he was sliding further down the bed. He spread his legs again and murmured _Incarcerous_.  
In a second his ankles were bound by smooth black cords, his legs wide and fastened to the bed posts. He cast a second rope at his knees, looping under the bed. Then he pulled against the ties, trying to close his legs, and groaned at the feeling of restriction, of being fully on display, and of wanting it.

He imagined the watching gazes again, then shivered as he pictured grey eyes looking back at him. He thought of Draco watching him, his cool gaze raking over Harry's body. Harry groaned at the idea, feeling himself harden further at the thought. He wanted that, suddenly. He wanted Draco watching him, spread out like this. He imagined Draco, put together in his immaculate clothes and his styled hair, watching Harry, naked and sweaty and panting and wanting. He imagined Ladon working him open while Draco watched.  
A part of him knew it was a fantasy, an impossible fantasy. It was crazy to think Draco would know about BDSM or would be interested in going near a club. As far as Harry could tell, there wasn't a wizarding world equivalent of the practice.

But he was alone and he could have whatever fantasies he wanted. He dropped his hands from his chest, scraping his nails down his sides with a hiss at the trails of pain they left. Then he tilted his hips up, slipping his hands underneath himself, cupping his arse cheeks.  
He imagined Draco's voice, the perfect pronunciation as he directed Ladon in what to do.  
'Spread him open,' fantasy Draco said. 'Let me see.'  
Harry groaned and pulled his arse cheeks apart, feeling pressure on his hole as he did. It was just a hint, a promise of what was to come.  
'Touch him,' Draco said. 'Slowly. I want to hear him beg.'

Harry groaned as he skated a finger over his rim, feeling the furl of his hole. He concentrated and his fingers were suddenly wet. He arched his back to give himself a better reach and then groaned again, as he pushed lightly at his rim, before moving his finger away. He did it again and again, a light pressure, barely entering, barely giving him what he wanted.  
'Perfect,' Draco said and Harry's breath caught at the idea of that word - of praise for him falling from Draco's lips. Then, 'More.'  
He caught his breath, pushing a finger up inside himself and grunting at the feeling. He moved it in and out, teasing a second against his rim, but not wanting to - not without being told he could.

'You want another, love?' Draco asked, and Harry knew he was getting it all twisted in his head. Draco didn't call him love - Draco would never call him love. But Ladon had - and Harry wanted that - wanted that from Draco with an intensity that stunned him. He'd thought it was just attraction - attraction that had the potential to make a growing friendship messy. But now he realised he'd been lying to himself. He wanted more than that with Draco. He wondered if he could have it.

He pushed his fingers back in, two this time, groaning at the feeling and cursing at the awkward angle.  
'What's the matter, Potter?' Draco said. 'You need something bigger in you?'  
Harry bit his lip and nodded, then opened his eyes, looking around his room, cursing the fact that he'd always been too embarrassed to go looking for sex toys.  
'Are you a wizard or not?' Draco said, the edge of teasing scorn in his voice making Harry want to grab his cock and strip it hard until he came. He grit his teeth and looked around the room again, spotting the corner of the bathroom sink.  
He held out his hand and a moment later, his toothbrush smacked into it. He brought both hands up, trying to slow his breathing and bring his scattered concentration back as he cast the complicated transfiguration spells.

The toothbrush thickened out, the bristles disappearing as it took on a definite cock shape. Harry ran his hand up it. It was still bright green, and the idea of using it was faintly ridiculous, but it would do what he needed.  
He slicked the end with lube again and then reached down, pushing it in slowly and steadily, not teasing himself anymore. He wanted to show Draco that he could take it. That he wanted it. He shivered. He wanted to show that he could be a good boy.

He moved it in and out slowly. It was slim enough that it hadn't been a challenge to insert but enough that he could feel the pleasure as he moved it within himself.  
'You're good at that, Harry,' Draco said. 'You like it, don't you?'  
'Yes,' Harry whispered, eyes closed again.  
'Do you want to be touched while you're being fucked, Harry?' Draco asked, and Harry let his imagination wander over Draco's body, taking in the intense look in his eyes, the growing bulge in his trousers. 

'Yes,' he said again, a whisper into the night. 'I want you to touch me, please.'  
In his imagination, Draco stepped closer, running his fingers up Harry's leg, bumping over the ropes bound to his ankles and knees, up to the join of his thigh. He stopped just before touching Harry's cock and Harry jerked his hips up, chasing the contact, as he fucked the dildo in and out of his arse with a slow drag. The ropes held him back and he growled at the restriction.  
'Not so fast, Potter,' Draco said, looking down at him with a sharp smile. 'I want you to beg for it.'  
The words were spilling from Harry's lips before he could think about it. 'Please, Draco,' he groaned. 'Please. Fuck. Please touch me.'

He gripped his own cock as he imagined Draco's hand moving higher, those long fingers wrapping around his shaft, Draco leaning over him, bracing a hand beside his head as he began to wank Harry with long, slow strokes. Harry forced his movements to stay slow, as he fucked himself back onto the makeshift dildo and then up into his hand. He imagined looking up into Draco's grey eyes, imagined Draco leaning closer, his lips almost, but not quite, touching Harry's.  
He shuddered out a breath, speeding up his movements involuntarily.  
'Please,' he whispered.  
'Please, what, Harry?' Draco asked, his eyes hot and wanting.

'Kiss me, please,' Harry begged. His hands moved faster over himself and he could feel his orgasm coming closer, building inside him.  
Draco brushed his lips against Harry's, the barest hint of a touch. Harry gasped out a breath and a plea. Draco did it again and again until Harry was burning with want, his hands moving furiously as he fucked himself. Then Draco kissed him hard, pushing him back into the bed, tongue deep in his mouth in a kiss that said he was owned - a kiss that said he was Draco's.  
Harry groaned and clenched hard, his torso rising from the bed as he came in hot stripes over his chest. He panted through it, whimpering at the intensity of his orgasm.

It wasn't until he had banished the ropes, cast a cleaning charm over himself and was under the covers, drifting towards sleep, that he realised Ladon had disappeared completely from his fantasy.

\----

Harry wasn't quite sure how to behave the next day. He kept remembering how it had felt to have Draco watching him, touching him, making him come. He knew none of it had been real, but now that he'd allowed himself to want it, he couldn't think of much else. He deliberately didn't allow himself to revisit the other thought he'd had the night before - about just how good it would be to have something more with Draco … something more than friendship, more than sex.

He started when Draco broke into his thoughts, approaching his desk with another summary report.  
'This is the last of them,' he said, handing it to Harry.  
'Hmm?' Harry said, taking it automatically.  
'I'm done. This is the last report. Everything I've found is in the info I've given you in the last few days.' He gestured at the desk behind him, which Harry was surprised to see had been cleared, the boxes re-stacked and a pile of files sitting neatly in one corner, marked with colour-coded notes.

Harry stared at the desk for a moment as the news sank in. Draco wouldn't be working with him anymore. He wouldn't be around anymore.  
'That's - thank you,' he said at last, standing from his desk. 'Your help has been invaluable.'  
Draco watched him for a moment, as though wondering whether Harry would say more. He had so many things he wanted to say, but none were things he could afford to let slip from his mouth.

'Scorpius is learning about sea creatures at his preschool,' Draco said, nodding his head to something behind Harry. Harry turned, flummoxed by the strange change of topic, and then he saw the picture of an octopus Rose had drawn, which was pinned up in the corner of his case board.  
Harry looked back at Draco, willing to latch onto anything that might keep the man in his office a while longer. 'What's his favourite?' he asked.  
Draco smiled, his face softening the way it always did when he thought of Scorpius. Harry felt his heart clench at the sight of it. 'He likes jellyfish. Of all things.'  
Harry grinned. 'Rose was obsessed with sea slugs for a while. It creeped Ron out - he's never forgotten vomiting them.'  
Draco sniggered and then looked contrite, as though he shouldn't be laughing at Harry's friend in front of him. Harry laughed too. It _had_ been funny. And the slightly green cast to Ron's features as he'd encouraged his daughter in her interests had been even funnier.

'I was thinking of taking Scorpius to the aquarium,' Draco said, the casualness in his tone seeming almost overdone.  
'Rose loves the Aquarium,' Harry replied, remembering his visit with her a year ago.  
Draco looked at him, as though unsure whether he should speak for a moment, but then he said, 'I - do you want to come with us? You could invite them too - Granger and Weasley and the kids. If you want.'  
Harry looked at him, surprised. 'Are you saying you want to spend time with Hermione and Ron? When was the last time you even spoke to them?'

Draco shrugged, looking uncomfortable. 'I - it just might be nice for Scorpius to be able to play with someone his own age. He's got friends at school, but they're mostly Muggle, and we don't tend to see them outside of school hours.'  
'Are you sure it's safe?' Harry asked, another thought occurring to him. 'We haven't locked down your father's accomplice yet.'  
Draco nodded. 'It's not like it's a sanctioned Society trip and I know my father wouldn't do anything to hurt his grandson.' His lip twisted bitterly, then he smoothed his face. 'Besides, I'm sure he'd be safe with the great Harry Potter watching over him,' Draco said, his voice teasing now.

Harry ignored the teasing and eyed Draco, gauging his certainty and the reasons behind offering the invitation. He was sure there was more to the request than wanting Scorpius to meet new people, but the idea of watching Ron and Draco circle each other like wary cats all day was too good to pass up. Plus, he would get to spend the day with Draco, without the pressures of work around them.  
'Sure,' he said. 'I have the day off on Saturday. I'll see if they're free.'

\---

The few days to the weekend seemed to pass slowly. Harry realised he missed Draco's presence in his office, but with the boxes of letters decoded and all of his notes and assumptions neatly categorised, Harry hadn't been able to think of a relevant reason to keep him. Plus, he figured Draco would probably want to get back to his real life.

He flooed to Ron and Hermione's early on Saturday morning to help them get the kids ready. He'd been thinking a lie-in might be nice, after the late nights he'd been keeping, but the idea of missing any of the trip left him feeling antsy and unsettled.  
The morning whirlwind of getting the two kids up and dressed and fed and packed for an outing was plenty to take his mind off things.  
He'd arranged for them to meet Draco and Scorpius at the aquarium entrance at ten and he wasn't surprised to see two blond heads waiting for them when they arrived.

Scorpius was holding Draco's hand, and looking at the pictures of the fish and sharks displayed in the entrance, but he turned and caught sight of the group walking towards them, immediately pulling Draco's hand in their direction.  
Draco looked around and his eyes flicked over their small group before catching on Harry. Harry found himself unable to look away, taking in the details of Draco's appearance, drinking him in after a few days apart.  
He was wearing slim-fitting dark jeans and chunky black boots that came up over his ankles. Instead of his normal collared shirt, he wore a tight, grey long-sleeved shirt that drew Harry's eyes to his chest. It was a lot more casual than Harry normally saw Draco looking and he like it. A lot.

They stopped in front of each other, and Draco pulled his eyes away to take in the others. Harry looked down at Scorpius with a smile, which the boy returned widely.  
'Weasley,' Draco said with a terse nod. 'Granger.'  
'Malfoy,' Ron said back, eyeing Draco warily.  
'Hello … Draco,' Hermione said, glancing at Harry and then back at him. Draco looked surprised to be called by his first name, but he nodded in response to it.  
'And you must be Scorpius,' Hermione said, smiling down at the boy who had moved around his dad to be on the same side Harry was.  
At the mention of his name, Scorpius looked up and then shrank shyly back against Draco's leg.

Harry knelt down, smiling. 'Hey Scorp, this is Rose,' he said, reaching his hand out to her. She came forward and smiled, holding onto his hand and peering at Scorpius.  
'And this is Hugo,' Harry said, gesturing to the curly-haired boy in the pram.  
Draco dropped a hand to Scorpius' hair, petting it gently.  
' _Dis bonjour, mon cœur_ ,' he said softly.  
'Hello,' Scorpius whispered, peering at Rose.  
Harry smiled at him and stood, gesturing inside. 'Shall we?'

The kids were entranced the moment they stepped inside and Harry felt his shoulders relax a touch. Ron had watched Draco at the ticket counter as though waiting for him to hex the woman working there, or at the very least to have no idea how to manage the money. But Draco had moved through easily, waiting for their bigger group on the other side.  
Then they walked through the shark walk, and they could see fish and shark swimming under their feet, and all of them got a bit lost in the wonder of being a part of the underwater world.

Rose and Scorpius rushed from exhibit to exhibit, marvelling at rays gliding overhead, sticking their hands into the interactive rook pool displays and talking about pirates when they passed the shipwreck. Harry found himself with a smile on his face all morning, seeing things with fresh eyes through the lens of the kids' excitement.  
Harry varied between walking with Ron and Hermione and with Draco, in both instances not saying much, just watching the kids and helping to answer the myriad questions that came their way. He felt a slight pang that the three of them weren't really interacting, but consoled himself that at least they were in the same space, and their kids seemed to have no issues with each other.

It wasn't until they stopped for lunch that things changed.  
'Scorpius is a wonderful boy,' Hermione said, watching him and Rose comparing chip sizes.  
Draco looked surprised, and then he smiled, nodding. 'Thank you,' he said, watching the two of them as well.  
'You send him to Saint Joseph's?'  
Draco nodded. 'He started last year, in their pre-school program.'  
'How do you find it?' Hermione asked, leaning forward slightly. 'We've been thinking about Rose, for next year. She's a year younger than Scorpius, from what Harry told me.' Draco's eyes flicked to Harry with that comment.  
'There are so many options,' Hermione continued. 'Ron does some purposeful play, and his mother has offered to homeschool,' Hermione's eyes tightened slightly and Harry knew that was a sore point. 'But I think socialisation is really important, as well as a foundational education in both worlds.'

To Harry's surprise, Draco nodded. 'I agree, completely. So many of us are raised in isolation, by tutors until we reach Hogwarts age. It just leads to children who don't understand the world outside their own family and who have no skills to empathise with others or understanding of respect for others.'  
'Exactly!' Hermione said. 'That's why the Magical Muggle Education Reform is so important.'  
Draco agreed again, and soon the two were deep in conversation, debating the pros and cons of the legislation to develop primary schools that taught a mixture of magical and Muggle history and curriculum and could better prepare students for Hogwarts, as well as allowing an avenue for Squib education, which was dearly lacking at the moment.

Harry cast a discreet Muffliato around them, then looked at Ron, who rolled his eyes in exasperation at the two of them.  
'Well,' he said, 'I guess we could have seen that coming.'  
Harry smiled, happy to see Draco getting on with Hermione. He knew there was still a lot of bad blood and history between them, and that would have to come out at some stage, but this was definitely far more than he'd let himself hope for.  
'Give me a hand to get some ice creams?' Ron asked, and Harry stood. They left the kids at the table, still engrossed in the remainder of their chips and the colouring books they'd picked up in the discovery room.

'You like him, don't you?' Ron said, without any attempt at a preamble.  
Harry flushed slightly, thankful it wouldn't show with his darker skin, but Ron knew.  
'Of all people, Harry. Malfoy?' Ron said, but his voice was more resigned than anything.  
Harry shrugged, not quite knowing how to put it into words. 'He's changed a lot since school. He's a good man. He's smart and he works to help others and he's wonderful with his son.'  
Ron held up his hands, 'I'm not the one who wants to get in bed with him, mate, you don't have to convince me.'  
Harry cut himself off, flushing again.  
'Just - be careful, yeah?' Ron said. 'And if he hurts you, tell me and I'll help you hide his body.'  
Harry snorted and knocked his shoulder against Ron's. He knew that would be the end of it, and that he had Ron's blessing, no matter how things worked out.

\----

They kept looking around after lunch, the kids keen to see everything, even though it was clear they were starting to get tired. Hugo had fallen asleep in the pram and Ron was pushing him while Hermione held Rose up to the tanks and told her about what was inside.

Harry watched Draco doing the same with Scorpius - the two of them chatting in a mix of French and English. When Scorpius ran off to join Rose at the seahorse tank, he stepped up beside Draco again.  
'You never spoke French at school,' he said, and was glad when his voice came out sounding more like a question than an accusation.  
Draco arched an eyebrow at him, 'Not in front of you,' he said.  
Harry shook his head. 'Not at all,' he replied. 'I would have noticed.'  
Draco coloured slightly at the words, but his voice, when he spoke was teasing, a hint of huskiness to it, that went straight to Harry's groin. 'Watched me a lot, back then, didn’t you, Potter?'  
Harry shrugged, seeing no point in denying it. He had watched Draco, though not for the same reasons he did now. 

'Tell me something,' he said instead. 'In French.'  
Draco looked at him, the smirk falling from his face, his look becoming serious all of a sudden. He took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, and then he spoke, his voice soft and intent, the flowing sounds falling from his lips.  
' _Je veux te dire la vérité, mais j'ai peur_ ,' Draco said, a look of sadness crossing his face. ' _J'ai peur que tu me détesteras. Que tu ne voudras pas de moi. J'ai peur de tout gâcher._ ' He looked away for a moment and Harry wanted to reach out to him, to gather Draco into his arms and to tell him that whatever it was, it couldn't be as bad as it seemed. But then Draco spoke again, and there was a slightly mocking edge to the small smile that crossed his lips. ' _Je n'ai jamais été aussi fort que toi._ '

'What did you say?' Harry asked, the words already disappearing from his mind.  
Draco shrugged, looking away. 'Something I can't say in English.'  
Harry reached for him, clasping Draco's forearm for a moment. He wanted to slip his hand down into Draco's, to grip his fingers, but he didn’t know how it would be received, especially after whatever Draco had just said to him.  
'Will you tell me?' he asked instead. 'Some day.'  
Draco looked back at Harry, watching him for a long moment. Then he nodded, looking down at Harry's hand on his arm.  
'I will. Some day.'

\----

Harry found himself unable to stop thinking about Draco after they'd left the aquarium. He'd enjoyed the trip, far more than he'd thought he would. He'd enjoyed spending the day with Draco, but more than that, having him around Ron and Hermione - the two most important people in his life, and seeing them soften towards each other had given him hope for the future. He didn't know what he was hoping for, but the idea that they could all - the three of them - be in his life, was something that sent happiness bubbling through him, when he thought of it.

Then there were the kids. Scorp had been brilliant, getting over his initial shyness and rushing all over the place, keen to stick his face or his hand into every exhibit he could reach. He was such a good kid and Harry liked the idea of spending more time with him. With him and Draco. He wanted … he wanted to maybe tell Draco that. To see if there could be something between them. He found Draco more and more in his thoughts over the past week. He'd wanked over him again, more than once, if he was honest, his sex drive seemingly much higher lately than it had been in the past few years.

But it was more than that. He found himself thinking about Draco as he sat down to lunch at his desk, wondering what he was doing, and where he was. When he was in his empty house late at night, he wondered whether Draco was curled up on the couch and what he was watching on telly. He found himself wanting to tell Draco little things about his day - had gotten used to doing that while they shared an office.  
He'd even seen a damned butterfly one day and his immediate thought was to wonder if Scorpius would like it.

This sense of limbo - of not knowing - was wearing on him. He wanted to do something about it, but knew that if he did, if he wanted to make something between them, he would first have to close off another thing. He couldn't continue seeing Ladon. He would have to go and see him again - one last time - to tell him that. He couldn't continue to chase a man who had made it clear they could have no future together. It wouldn't be fair on Draco to have Harry come to him like that - his wanting split two ways.

Ladon could give him things Draco never could, he knew that. But Draco … on the balance of it, Draco could give him so much more. He'd seen Draco watching him, knew that the friendship they were developing had solid foundations. He allowed himself to hope that Draco wanted something more with him as well. Ladon could give him release. Harry thought that just maybe, Draco could give him a life.

\-----

Draco took Scorpius home for a change of clothes after their day out and they arrived at Pansy's parents' Estate late in the afternoon. He knew Pansy wouldn't be watching Scorpius for the night - not on a Saturday. But he knew she'd be there, getting ready to go out, and he needed to talk to her.  
He dropped Scorpius off at the dinner table, giving Estelle a kiss on the cheek and a murmured thank you. He knew Pansy's parents loved looking after Scorpius while he was at the club, or attending Society events, so far as they knew. However, at this point he felt like his son basically had a second home here, and he always had a niggling worry in the back of his mind that one day they would overstay their welcome.

Estelle gave him a smile, and then turned to Scorpius, asking him how his day was. Draco had already let her know they'd been to the aquarium and that he was buzzing but would likely crash early for the night.  
Draco leaned down to kiss an excitedly babbling Scorpius on the head and then went upstairs. He didn't bother knocking before he pushed Pansy's bedroom door open. Gods knew he'd seen her naked more times than he'd needed to in their lives.

He looked around the familiar space, hearing the shower in the adjoining bathroom, then stepped over to her bed, tugging the covers flatter before laying back onto it, staring up at the pale silk canopy. It was the same one she'd had as a girl. Pansy didn't live here all the time, but she tended to be around on the days Scorpius was staying. She had a townhouse she kept, mostly for entertaining and impressing people, Draco suspected. And for fucking.  
It was nice to be in Pansy's room. He'd spent a lot of time here growing up. His own childhood room at the Manor, was probably exactly the same as it had been when he had left it at seventeen. He'd never set foot back in it to check.

He didn’t sit up when he heard the shower cut off, and Pansy humming to herself as she dried and styled her hair before she came back into the room. It was some obnoxious Muggle pop song - on repeat, making it even more obnoxious.  
The humming cut off as she walked into her room and saw him sprawled out across her bed.  
'You've been a busy boy, I hear,' she said, and he heard the sound of her closet doors opening and racks moving as she sorted through her clothes.  
'Always,' he agreed, idly tracing patterns in the folds of the canopy with his eyes. 'What now?'  
'Justin said you've been in and out of the Ministry all week. The Auror floor, no less.' Draco couldn't see her face, but he knew she'd be sporting a look of fake surprise. 'I wonder whatever could have drawn you there?'

Draco grunted sourly. 'Please don't tell me you're fucking Finch-Fletchley again?' he said. 'The last round got your crup named after him, what this time?'  
'Don't be crude, Draco. I'm not fucking him. He just likes to give me information in exchange for some imaginary second chance I keep dangling in front of him.'  
Draco rolled his eyes, despite knowing she couldn't care less.  
'Red or black?' Pansy said and Draco pushed himself up onto his elbows to see her standing in front of her closet wearing only a pair of skimpy lace knickers, with two dresses held up to her chest. He eyed them both, knowing from experience he couldn't get away with a flippant answer.

'Where and who with?'  
'The Cock and Bull,' Pansy said. 'Drinks with Heathcote.'  
'I didn't know he was back in town. Black, definitely.'  
Pansy dropped the red dress to the floor and Draco averted his gaze from her bare chest. Sometimes he thought she did these things just to mess with him.

'So,' she said, as she moved over to her dresser. She straightened her dress and seated herself before picking up her moisturiser. 'Potter. What's going on? Clearly you haven't stayed away - as if that wasn't obvious from watching the way you drooled all over him at New Years.'  
Draco glared at the back of her head. 'I didn't drool.' He could feel an argument starting and squashed it down. He'd come here expressly to talk to her about Potter, after all.

'I've been seeing him, at the club,' he said, meeting her eyes in the reflection in the mirror. Pansy pursued her lips and picked up her foundation, squeezing a bit onto the back of her hand before beginning to dab it onto her face.  
'I gathered,' she said, 'from the way you came home glowing every few weeks. You fucked him, then?'  
Draco nodded, before he could help himself, then stopped. Pansy's ministrations paused for a moment as her eyes widened, then she continued, silently.  
'Not just fucking though, Pans,' he said. 'We're friends, outside the club. We - we went to the aquarium today. With Scorpius and Harry's friends and -'  
'Wait,' Pansy said, swivelling around in her seat to look at him. 'You went to the aquarium … with Weasley and Granger … at Potter's invitation.'

Draco nodded.  
'Shit,' Pansy breathed. 'You actually are friends with him.' She paused, forehead crinkling. 'How did he take it when you told him you were Ladon?'  
Draco bit his lip and saw the growing shock on Pansy's face.  
'You haven't _told_ him?' she said, voice rising. 'Draco, what the fuck are you doing? You don't fuck Harry Potter with kinky sex games and then lie to him about it and make friends with him and think that's all going to turn out okay.'  
She took a deep breath, eyes looking a little panicked. 'He could have you arrested. He could - he …' She threw up her hands. 'Draco, what the hell have you done? This a monumentally bad call, even for you.'

'I know,' Draco said. 'I know. I just - I don't know how to fix it.'  
'You can't fix it,' Pansy said, her mouth in a grim line. 'You have two options. You tell him and he arrests you - if he doesn't kill you. _Gods Draco_ , this is like sixth year all over again, Potter stalking you around the castle, hellbent on stopping you.' She rubbed a hand through her carefully styled hair, heedless of the streak of foundation she left in it.  
'Your only other choice, the one that I would recommend, is that you keep it a secret and cut all contact with him. You remove yourself - both your selves - from his life completely.'

Draco thought about both of those options. The idea of cutting Harry out of his life - of not seeing him, of not having even the slightest chance to be with him, made tension roil through him.  
'I can't, Pans,' he said, and his voice was quiet and firm. 'I can't stop seeing him. Not now.'  
Pansy shook her head, almost as though telling him not to go through with it.  
'I'll tell him. He -' Draco paused, imagining the moment. 'Maybe if he hears it from me, it will be okay.' He didn't know if he was trying to convince Pansy or himself. He didn't think either of them had bought it.  
'Oh, Draco,' Pansy said, her voice taking on the worried tone she only used when she was being truly open with him. Draco realised in that moment that she recognised just how deep his feelings went.  
He gave her a sad smile. He would do what he had to. He had no choice.

\----

Draco had barely walked in the door of Release when he got the owl from Harry. It was the same as always, a request to meet, but this time, something was different. The handwriting was more rushed than usual, cramped, as though Harry had been tense while writing it.  
Draco thought about his conversation with Pansy, thought about what he would do. He'd invite Potter for dinner. He'd get Scorpius out of the house … just in case it went badly. They'd have a meal, as friends, and then he would tell him. He would get everything out in the open - no more secrets or lies.  
He didn't think Harry would arrest him. Whatever this was, it was between them, private … but he fully expected that Harry would never want to speak to him again.

He looked down at the note in his hand. Would it be best to start the clean break from Ladon now? Or could he have this, just one more time, before it was gone forever? He cursed himself and his indecision. He'd talked this through in his mind so many times. He knew what the right thing was. He put the note in his pocket, not quite able to throw it away. He very much wanted to take the high road, to do things right, but the thought that this could be his last chance to be with Harry in this way pulled at him in a way he couldn't completely ignore.

In the end, Harry decided for him. He turned up in the main room less than thirty minutes later, an expression on his face that was both determined and apologetic, as though he knew he were stepping outside his bounds. If Harry were truly Ladon's sub, he would have punished him for the presumption. But now, with everything swirling though his mind, Draco just gestured him to one of the unoccupied rooms.

'I'm sorry I didn't wait,' Harry said, as soon as they were inside. 'It's just. I needed it to be tonight.'  
'What do you need?' Draco asked, the decision made for him, the moment Harry walked in the door. He would do this, one last time. Would have it once more before it was all taken away.  
Harry wasted no time, the expression on his face driven, his whole body on edge. Draco wondered what had happened to him since he left the aquarium that afternoon to put him in such a drastically different mood, but he couldn't ask. 'Ladon' shouldn't know Harry had been any different earlier that day.  
Gods but he was weary of the farce. He wanted to be with Harry as himself, as all of himself. He was sick of playing this double game.

'The ropes,' Harry said. 'That first night, I saw you on the stage, with the ropes. I want that. Please.'  
Draco thought back, remembering that night. He'd had Melody on stage with him. They'd done Shibari scenes together on and off for years. The inverted reverse prayer suspension was not for beginners. No matter how much Harry might want it.  
He shook his head, and Harry's face fell, the disappointment radiating through him as clearly as if he'd shouted it.  
Draco remembered Harry's expression, that first day they'd come face to face. He remembered the fascination and awe in Harry's eyes as he'd looked at the intricate knotwork in the photograph on the wall.

'That position is not possible, Harry. But I could tie another, if you want the ropes.' He thought about the dragonfly sleeve - the beautiful pattern it made against a man's back as it pulled his arms behind him. He imagined seeing that on Harry's skin, decided he would choose a light rope, to contrast better. He was already getting lost in the idea of it when Harry nodded.  
'Yes, that, please, sir.'  
Draco held out his hand and Harry took it, with just a hint of hesitation, as though he were telling himself he shouldn't.

Draco led Harry into the room he did all his ropework in. It was his room, though some of the others played in it sometimes. Shibari was his specialty - his love. And now to think that he could do it for Harry, just this once …  
He didn't even have to tell Harry to strip, he was doing it as soon as the door had closed, piling his clothes neatly on the chair. This room was bare but for a cupboard on the wall and a myriad of hooks at all heights and angles. The floor here was carpeted - Draco used magic to get it truly clean - but he preferred the surface when he had people kneeling or lying before him.

He indicated Harry should kneel and he did, without a word, offering himself up to the collar and then the blindfold without a sound. He was so good - so good it hurt. Draco didn't know what he would do when Harry was gone. He didn’t know whether he would be able to go back to doing this with others - whether he would get the same sense of satisfaction without this perfect surrender. He knew that part of it - most of it - was the fact that this was Harry under his hands. The man who, for so, so long, Draco had watched, envied, fixated on. The idea that this same man would give his power to Draco, would let Draco be in control for once in his life, that was part of the rush.

That was why this had to stop. Harry had chosen to give up his power … but not to give it up to Draco. May never choose to do so, if they did, somehow end up together. Harry had not consented, ever, to Draco having this control over him. And that was why it had to end. Why Draco had to tell him the truth. But first, he would let him fall, one more, perfect time.

Draco looked at Harry, kneeling on the floor before him, collared and blindfolded, and he took a deep breath, calming himself. This all felt like it was happening so fast, like they were rushing forward and he would just have to blink to miss it.  
He walked to the cupboard, opening it and pulling out a length of rope that would be just right for the dragonfly on a man of Harry's size.

He ran his fingers over it as he walked back to Harry, sinking to his knees behind him. He lost no time in twisting the rope in the middle, creating two circles that he pulled through each other, making large loops. He reached down for Harry's hands, one by one, slipping them through the loops and moving the ropes up his arms until they wrapped over his shoulders, the knot in the middle centred high up on Harry's naked back.

Draco didn't speak as his hands moved. He preferred not to, when he worked with the ropes. It helped him to get a little lost as well, in the texture of the rope under his fingers, in the pattern he created on the person before him.  
He measured the next length of rope and looped it again, creating another knot a few finger widths down. He pulled the excess into two large loops, and slid Harry's hands into them, one by one. Draco slid the rope up his arms, until it pulled tight against Harry's biceps, then he looped it again and again, creating the knots and pulling the ties up on Harry's arms.

He worked quickly, unable to stop himself, unable to take his eyes away from the beauty in the way the ropes clung to Harry's arms, defining him, the patterns neat and intricate against his dusky skin.  
He pressed his fingers to Harry's back, between his shoulder blades, encouraging him to lean forward, until his forehead was on the ground and Draco had better access to his forearms and hands. Harry resisted, the slightest amount, but then he bowed down, his hands clenching and unclenching, before he let them go slack. 

Draco continued to work, pulling the knots tight, pulling Harry's hands further behind his back until they met at the wrists. He ran his fingers up and down Harry's arms, unable to stop himself, before he reached for the final ties. He bound Harry's wrists and then sat back on his heels, looking at his work and feeling that same glow of satisfaction he always got from creating beauty, run through him.  
Harry wasn't moving and Draco leaned forward, berating himself for not checking on him sooner. He would be in subspace, Draco was sure of it, but still, he should have checked. He'd been doing this for far too many years for him not to check and make sure the person he was with was okay.

He moved beside Harry and frowned slightly as he took in his posture. Harry was face down against the carpet, hunched in on himself, his body tense. His face was pushed into the floor to the extent that he was probably finding it hard to breathe. Draco reached out for his shoulder, and pulled back as Harry flinched at his touch. Draco felt alarm spike through him. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

'Harry,' he said, reaching out a gentle hand again, running it lightly down Harry's arm. There was no response, so Draco looked closer. He could see Harry's mouth moving against the floor, as though he was whispering something soundlessly.  
'Harry,' Draco said again, becoming more and more concerned by the second. What had he done?  
'Harry,' Draco said, voice firmer, trying to cut through and into whatever space he was lost in. 'I'm taking the ropes off now, okay. I'm going to take the ropes off and then you can sit up and we can talk. Can you do that for me, Harry?'

Harry seemed to hunch in on himself further, the frantic whispers increasing until Draco could almost make them out. What he could hear turned him sick with fear. What the fuck had he done?  
He didn't bother with untying the ropes, just took a quick step back to where he'd left his wand.  
As soon as Draco's hands left him, Harry let out a low, keening cry. It sounded heartbroken and lost.  
'Harry,' Draco said, dropping back to his side. 'Harry, love, I'm here. It's alright.' He tried to inject reassurance and comfort into his voice, but he could hear the edge of panic in it.  
He slashed at the ropes with a precise Diffindo and they fell away. Harry's arms dropped to his sides but he just curled in on himself, his words becoming louder - enough that Draco could make them out.

'No please, don't hurt me. I'm sorry. I'll be quiet. Please stop. Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'

It was a never-ending cycle, the pleas falling from Harry's mouth, his voice sounding small and terrified. At once, Draco realised what he'd done. He'd dropped Harry hard into his childhood - into his memories. He cursed himself for not realising. Harry had told him he'd been locked in a cupboard as a child, and what had Draco done - taken away his magic and his sight and his movement and pushed him into a ball on himself in a position where he couldn't breathe properly. Fucking _FUCK_ he was an idiot.

He lay on the floor beside Harry, touching him with only the tips of his fingers, just enough that Harry would know he was there, but not so much that he would feel smothered or threatened.  
'Harry,' he said gently, his heart aching at the fear in Harry's voice. 'Harry, you're okay. None of it is real.' He reached up slowly with one hand and released the tie on the blindfold. It fell to the ground, but Draco could see Harry's eyes were squeezed tight.  
'Harry, love, you're safe here. I promise. There is no one to hurt you. You're safe, love. Open your eyes for me.

Harry shook his head, eyes still tightly closed, but his words changed. 'You're mad. You'll be mad. I didn’t do as I was told. I'm sorry. I meant to be good. I can be good. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'  
Draco felt his heart break at the anguish in those words, at the image of a little boy who just wanted to be loved. He hadn’t thought badly of Muggles in a long time, but right then he could have AK'd the ones who'd raised Harry. How dare they do this to a child.

'I'm not mad,' he said instead, making his voice gentle, filling it with the love he couldn't tell Harry he felt. 'No one is mad, Harry. You were wonderful. Perfect. You're always perfect.' He began to rub small circles on Harry's back, hoping his words were getting through. 'Will you look at me, please? I just want to make sure you're okay, that’s all. I'm worried for you. I'm scared, Harry, can you look at me, please?'

Harry's head moved a fraction and Draco focussed all of his attention on keeping Ladon's face in place. He had no idea what it would do to Harry to be in a headspace like this and to suddenly be confronted with the truth of who Draco was.  
'That's it, Harry,' Draco said. 'You're doing amazing. You're such a good boy. So strong and so brave. That's it, Harry.' Draco said, seeing Harry's eyes open a crack and feeling like he could breathe for the first time in minutes.

'Just watch me, love. I'll keep you safe, I promise.'  
Draco looked into Harry's eyes, keeping up his stream of encouragement and love. He saw, inch by inch as Harry forced the darkness of his past away and forced himself back into the present. He saw the exact moment _his_ Harry re-surfaced again and Draco closed his eyes, tears of relief and of anguish falling from them.  
He opened his arms, still lying there on the floor beside Harry. Then he sobbed out a thankful prayer when Harry crawled into them, curling tight against him, as though he would never let go.

\-----

Harry woke in his bed with no real understanding of where he was or how he'd got there. He lay quietly in the dark, letting the memories seep back in, and as he did, he curled in tighter and tighter on himself.  
He'd gone to the club to say goodbye to Ladon. He'd gone to ask for the ropes and to say goodbye. And instead … instead he had lost it. Freaked out. He didn’t know when the last time he had shut down like that was - that first year or two after the war? When they had all been trying to piece themselves back together?

He - what must Ladon think of him?

Harry opened his eyes and waved a hand at the curtains, pulling them wide, trying to let some sunlight in to banish the memories. But to his surprise, the light was dim - it was late afternoon. He'd slept all day. He vaguely remembered leaving the club, Apparating home. Ladon had wanted him to stay but he couldn't. His head was filled with memories he didn't want to talk about and no matter how many times Ladon told him he hadn't done anything wrong, all he could think about was the shame of being too weak to continue with the scene.

He'd tried not to go to that place in his head. He'd tried to get lost in Ladon's touch, and the certainty of his movements. At first he'd liked the feel of the ropes against his skin. But everything had happened so fast. And then it was dark, and so quiet, and he couldn't move and he just knew he had to do what he was told. 

And then Uncle Vernon's voice had been there in his head, telling him he was worthless, and unwanted, and he'd better get back into his damned cupboard and stop that snivelling noise before he got something to really cry about.

Harry shuddered, the memories so vivid again, after all these years. Vernon was a towering presence in them; Harry always felt so small and helpless in these early memories. It was stupid when he thought of it now - there was nothing his uncle could do to touch him. But in his memories, he didn't have a wand or a way out. He was just small and afraid and so desperate to make it all stop.  
Harry sat up abruptly, wincing as the room swam slightly. He had to get out of bed. He couldn't lie here, by himself, thinking about that time.

He made it to the shower before the memories came back again, pushing at his mind. His aunt this time and the ways she'd punished him again and again, when he hadn't quite managed to do his cleaning to her exacting standards, his small hands clumsy with the tasks.  
He had a flash of memory. The cupboard by the sink - the dark, cramped space … the way the lock sounded as the bolt slid home.

Harry shook the memory off with a shudder, wondering why now - why after all this time - these thoughts were coming back. He thought he'd left them behind long ago, when he'd left the Dursleys behind.

It was quiet in the house and the quiet was making things worse. He needed to be around people, he decided as he dressed hurriedly, pulling on a pair of joggers and a comfortable hoodie that felt warm and familiar.  
Ginny used to help him, when things like this pushed their way into his mind. She always seemed to know when he was going into the dark place and her jokes and stories and words helped him work his way back.  
Harry considered owling her, to see if she was around, but he stopped himself. That wasn't what they were to each other anymore. 

He tried to think what day it was. Sunday?  
Ron and Hermione would be having dinner at the Burrow. He thought for a moment about going there, about letting himself be wrapped up in family, in warmth and laughter and welcoming. But he felt too raw - too exposed - for a large group. He just wanted to sit with someone and to be distracted. To listen to them talk so he didn't have to listen to the voice inside his head that said that he would never be anything worth having.

A thought whispered into his mind. _Draco?_  
The moment he considered it, he knew that was where he wanted to be. Before he had a chance to think twice about it, he had stuck his head in the Floo and was calling Draco's name.  
It was Scorpius who answered, sitting up over the back of the couch with a wide grin and an excited shout.  
A moment later, Draco walked into the room, his face going through a number of expressions in quick succession, before settling on a concerned anxiety that Harry couldn't understand and didn't have the headspace to try and decipher.

'Ha - Potter, what's wrong?' he asked, moving closer to the Floo and kneeling down.  
'Nothing,' Harry said, then shook his head. 'Just -' he glanced at Scorpius. 'I didn't feel like being alone tonight and wondered if you wanted some company.'  
Draco hesitated for just long enough that Harry started to feel like he'd imposed, and then he was sitting back and waving Harry forward.  
'Of course, come through. Dinner's almost done, if you want some?'

Harry stepped through the Floo and Scorpius beamed at him, sitting back down onto the couch, and turning his attention to the telly again. Harry considered joining him for a moment, and talking with him about his day and about what he'd liked from the trip yesterday. But he still felt unsettled, like there were dark memories swirling just underneath the surface of his mind, waiting to tug him back under. Instead of joining the boy on the couch, he followed Draco back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table when Draco waved him into it. The kitchen was warm and light and quiet aside from Draco's movements around the space. Harry felt himself unwind slightly.

He watched Draco quietly for a few minutes, as he checked on a pot of boiling vegetables and placed sausages in a pan. Draco seemed to feel him watching and looked back over his shoulder.  
'Nothing fancy tonight, I'm afraid. Just meat and veg.'  
Harry shrugged, not feeling hungry despite the fact that he hadn't eaten since the night before. 'That sounds great, thanks,' he said, for something to say.  
Draco seemed on edge. The normal conversation that had flowed so well between them in the past was absent.

He almost jumped when Draco turned abruptly towards him.  
'Scorpius is staying with Pansy's parents' on Tuesday night. Did you want to come around for dinner?' Draco asked, looking strangely nervous as he asked. Harry looked at him, wondering about the offer, and about the nervousness. He found it strange that Draco had specified Scorpius wouldn't be there. Then he thought further about it, pushing away the fog in his mind. Was Draco asking him around … as a date?  
He felt a spark of interest fight its way through the turmoil of his thoughts. Had he been right? Did Draco want to see if there was something more between them as well?

'Tuesday sounds great,' he said, feeling his mood lift slightly at the thought of it. 'I'll be working but I'll try and get away as close to seven as I can.'  
Draco nodded, his attention back on the pan as he turned the sausages. He didn't seem quite as excited by the prospect. Harry looked more closely at him, trying to look beyond his own concerns for a moment.  
Draco's hair was mess, as though he hadn't bothered styling it. He was wearing a faded old t-shirt and an oversize pair of joggers that pooled at his ankles and had holes in the heel. His movements were slow and his shoulders were slumped. It was a marked contrast from his appearance at the aquarium the day before, where he'd looked fit and happy.

'Are you alright?' Harry asked softly, and Draco jerked his head up, with a startled sound, looking back at Harry.  
'Yes,' he said, meeting Harry's eyes, before looking away. 'Yes, I'm fine. Sorry. Didn’t sleep well.'  
He waved his hand at the cupboard, sending plates and cutlery floating onto the table.

He called Scorpius in, dishing dinner for the three of them, and then sat down. Despite the strangeness of Draco's mood. Harry found himself enjoying the meal. He listened to Scorpius talking about the day they'd had yesterday, throwing in his own comments occasionally about something he'd seen or done. But Scorpius seemed pretty happy to hold his own conversation and Harry found it distracting enough that he felt his dark thoughts slowly receding.  
Just being around other people - just being around Draco - was helping. It was making the night before seem less real and his past seem less present.

Draco seemed to relax too, the longer the meal went on. He met Harry's eyes more, and put his own comments into the conversation. Harry felt himself wondering what was on Draco's mind. He thought again about the invitation to dinner in a few days time. The dinner without Scorpius. He didn’t want to look into it too much, but he found himself hoping again that maybe it was an invitation to something more.  
He still felt bad about the way he had left things with Ladon, but he _had_ left them. He remembered that much, making it clear that he couldn't come back - that he'd met someone and that he wanted to have a chance with them and so he couldn’t come back again.

Ladon had seemed … okay with it. Harry found it hard to remember the man's exact response. But he certainly hadn't been angry. In fact Harry had thought it strange just how okay he had been with it. That was part of what had sent his mood spiraling again, he remembered, the idea that Ladon didn't care if he stayed away because he had ruined the scene. He knew that hadn't been true. Ladon had told him it hadn't been true. But everything had been so messy - still felt so messy.

He looked up as his empty plate shifted in front of him, to see Draco levitating the dishes into the sink.  
'Sorry,' Harry said. 'I was thinking about something else.'  
Draco waved him off and Harry glanced beside him to see Scorpius had slipped out of the kitchen while he'd been lost in thought.  
'Do you want to watch some telly or something?' Draco asked. 'I just need to give Scorpius a bath and tuck him in, then I'll be back out.'

Harry stood from the table. 'I don’t want to impose,' he said. 'I turned up out of nowhere and made you feed me and now I'm interrupting your -'  
Draco made a gesture, cutting him off. 'It's fine. Stay. I'll join you when he's asleep.' Harry wavered, still struck by Draco's strange mood, but something in his face made Harry think he didn’t want to be alone either, so instead he nodded.

Draco gave him a small smile and then disappeared out of the kitchen and up the hall.  
Harry looked around the room for a moment, deciding he didn't feel like sitting still yet. Instead he went over to the sink, looking underneath for the washing liquid and running some hot water. The least he could do was clean up after dinner.  
He set the leftovers onto a plate and soon had the dishes drying in their rack. 

The sounds of splashing from the bathroom down the hall had died down, so Harry assumed bath time was over. He moved down the passage, intending to use the toilet quickly, when he heard the faint sounds of a song coming from Scorpius' partially opened door.  
He moved closer, intrigued. He hadn't known Draco could sing. As he got approached, the words became clearer, Draco's voice low and smooth. He was singing in French, the tune haunting and slow and somehow familiar.

Harry took another step closer and Draco sang the melody again, his voice flowing over the words. Harry frowned. He knew that song. The sound of it teased at the edge of his memory, something familiar and comforting. Something that spoke of safety and love and -

Harry stopped dead, his heart thudding in his chest as he realised exactly where he knew that song from. In an instant, the fog in his mind burned away and he could feel memories flickering to life, a hundred connections being made, cascading through his brain.

Draco had been strange all night.

Draco had been strange after every visit Harry had had with Ladon. Draco had watched him with intense eyes, as though he knew something no one else did.

Ladon, from the beginning had pushed him - challenged him. Ladon had never reacted to him as strangers usually did to Head Auror Harry Potter. Harry felt a sick feeling forming in his stomach and he took a step back from the door.

He remembered Ladon's words, that first time in the club. _Harry Potter - The Chosen One, The Golden Boy - is not a sadist. Everything you've ever done has been to stop pain, hasn't it? To stop the damage against those you care about - against the innocent._

Ladon had talked like he knew him. From the very beginning, Ladon had known things about him that he couldn't have got from reading the papers. He had known exactly what Harry needed, as though he'd known the stories behind the names on Harry's body. The way Ladon had punished him - the way he had absolved him - as though he had a right to.

Harry shook his head. He was wrong. He had to be wrong, but the memories kept falling into place, relentless now that the dam had been opened.

The familiar tone, _This club is full of Muggles, Potter. I'd appreciate if you'd stop lighting up the ceiling like a fucking Christmas tree._ The way that had felt comfortable, welcome in some unconscious way. He was such a fool.

He thought about the way Ladon had watched him, performed for him, from the first rope scene at the very beginning, _Ladon looked up and his gaze met Harry's unerringly through the darkness. Harry's breath had hitched at the burning heat he saw there. He knew, somehow, that Ladon had looked at him specifically - had known where he was … had been performing … at least in part … for him. Harry had shivered, unable to look away from the danger and the promise in the icy blue eyes holding him in his seat._

His mind rebelled against the idea - still refusing to reconcile Draco Malfoy with this man who owned a club and dealt such exquisite pain. But Malfoy had always been drawn to pain, hadn't he - to cruelty. It wasn't so much of a stretch to imagine that he had lured Harry in from the very beginning. He had pushed - pushed him until he was weak and vulnerable. _You're angry because you want what I can offer and you can't bring yourself to ask for it. You can't bring yourself to shake up your perfect, empty little life and do what you want for a change._

And he had mocked Harry with it. Rubbed his face in it. _'Slytherin, Potter,' Malfoy shrugged, his eyes flicking down to Harry's chest for an instant before coming back to meet his. 'I know all sorts of things.'_

Harry felt his anger spark, mixing with the shock and the nausea at the dawning understanding that was becoming more and more real by the second.

Again and again, the memories connected in his mind. The slips of the tongue on names. Things Ladon knew that he shouldn't have know. The hidden meanings to his words. Harry felt sick. Draco - _Malfoy_ \- had reviled his father for his games and power plays, and the whole time, Draco himself had been playing Harry. Stringing him along.

He took another step back from the room, from that melancholy voice. 

He'd - they'd been friends, or he'd thought they had. He'd even wanted more that that. He thought about his naïve excitement just an hour earlier, at the idea that Malfoy might be inviting him to a date. He felt anger swirling in response to that thought. Malfoy had had all of the cards - he had torn Harry apart and looked inside his soul, and given nothing of himself in turn. Not even his face.

Then Harry remembered something that made his blood run cold. He'd had sex. They'd had sex. Harry had basically begged Malfoy to fuck him while wearing his own face. _I've never done this before._ He'd been shy. He'd thought it meant something. _I don't want it to be a lie._ But it had been a lie. Every part of it had been a lie.

Harry felt his magic rising up inside him, surging to his fingertips. It reacted with the growing pain inside him, the pain that he was just starting to feel, as the truth forced itself in front of him. He felt the air grow heavy with his anger as his memories continued to unspool.

Weaving through it all. That melody. That song.

Harry clenched his fists, trying to control his breathing, trying to keep himself in check. But he couldn't get past the truth that was blazing in his mind.

Ladon was Draco. Ladon was Malfoy.

He had been played for the very worst kind of fool. Ladon knew things about him - had done things to him, that he had _never_ let anyone else. _Malfoy_ knew those things. Had pulled them from him.

Harry thought of the words he'd been told, that very first time, when he was standing at the precipice, preparing to take the leap. _BDSM is about trust above all else. It's about making yourself vulnerable within a safe space. You trust me, or this won't work between us._

He gave a bitter laugh, heedless of whether Malfoy heard him, the sound cutting something open inside of him. Shutting down the feelings he'd thought were real. Nothing Malfoy had said to him had been the truth. He felt his magic stir again, seeking the source of his pain. It reached out into the air around him, crackling like static.

Harry walked back into the living room, his steps measured as he pulled his rage around himself like a shield, making himself cold with it. Hard. His magic spread through the house. He could feel it spilling from him. He could feel it hunting for the source of his pain.  
He dimly heard Malfoy's voice cut off before he spoke the words of a silencing charm and a shield charm across Scorpius' room. It was the confirmation of Malfoy's guilt that Harry didn't need. Harry's anger burned colder, sparking around him again. The television flared and cut off in a hiss of static.

He could hear Malfoy's steps, slow and heavy and Harry felt his mouth twist into a grin, though there was no mirth in it. Let him be afraid. Let him feel what it was to be helpless.  
Malfoy stepped into the living room, his eyes meeting Harry's immediately. Harry was shaken for a moment by the depth of the anguish he saw there. He brushed it off. Malfoy had been lying to him for months. He could create any emotion he wanted to portray. Harry would not be lied to again.

He waited a long moment, staring at Malfoy and feeling his magic crackling around them. He pulled the power of it around himself, letting it soothe the hurt.  
'You're not going to try and deny it?' he asked at last.  
Malfoy opened his mouth and then closed it, shaking his head. 'I'm sorry, Harry,' was all he said. 'I was going to -'  
Harry slashed his hand to cut Malfoy off and the fireplace flared bright and hot as his magic surged around them again. Malfoy's eyes flicked to it for a moment and then he took a step backwards, toward the room his son was in.

Malfoy thought he would hurt Scorpius? The idea of that was enough - just enough - to take the edge off Harry's anger. It was enough to allow him to rein the power in.  
He wanted to ask why. Wanted to shout and scream. He wanted to _hit_ Malfoy and make him bloody say why he did this. Why had he fucked with Harry's head? Why had he played with him and allowed him to feel something - feel everything?

Harry had changed his whole damned life in the last few months - all because of Ladon - because of Malfoy. The longer he thought about it, the more he could see Malfoy's fingerprints all over his choices and decisions and actions. The thought of being manipulated that way - _used_ that way, like he had been all through the war, made him feel dirty.

Malfoy's eyes dropped to Harry's neck for a second, and Harry realised he was rubbing at the leather strip he wore there.

The leather strip Malfoy had put on him at the party.

The leather strip that reminded him so much of Ladon's collar that it felt comfortable. Safe.

He felt a surge of anger run through him again. Malfoy had collared him. Publicly. Without his knowledge. Malfoy had been flaunting his ownership over Harry for months, before they'd even become friends. He wondered who Draco had told - who had been laughing at him - Head Auror Harry Potter - the Boy Who Lived, his childhood enemy's pet.

Harry grit his teeth, twisting his fingers in the leather band and ripping it from his neck with a sharp snap.

Malfoy let out a sound. Disbelief? Hurt?  
Harry didn't care. None of it was real. Malfoy had proved that with his lies upon lies.

'You're sick,' he spat, throwing the band at Malfoy's feet. 'You're a twisted fuck, and what you did to me -' he paused, unable to find the words for the magnitude of emotions raging through him.  
Malfoy didn't fight back. Didn't dispute it. He just stood there, shoulders slumped, looking at Harry with an expression of helpless pain.  
Somehow that made Harry angrier - that Malfoy didn't try to deny it. Didn't try to claim there had been something more to it. Something real.

Harry couldn't be here anymore. He had to get out. He had to get away from Malfoy and his games - his lies. He had to try and get to a place where he wasn't falling into a million pieces. He could feel all the parts of him that had stitched together in the last few months flying away again - making him feel as though he would never be whole.

Harry glared at Malfoy, putting every ounce of his fury into his voice.  
'You stay away from me,' he growled. 'You stay _the fuck_ away from me.'

Harry didn't stay to see Malfoy's reaction. He gathered his surging magic around him, focusing it in, then he ripped Malfoy's wards apart, Apparating through them like they'd never existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I HAVE BEEN WAITING ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND WORDS TO WRITE THAT SCENE!!!
> 
> I kid you not. My heart was pounding so hard and I was literally shaking as I wrote about Harry finding out. It's all been building towards this and I hope it met your expectations.
> 
> I really, really, would love your thoughts on this one. This is one of the biggest events of this story and I really would love to know how it came out.
> 
>  
> 
> A few notes:  
> The poem in the letters was The Four Quartets by TS Eliot.
> 
> Draco's French at the aquarium:  
>  _Je veux te dire la vérité, mais j'ai peur. J'ai peur que tu me détesteras. Que tu ne voudras pas de moi. J'ai peur de tout gâcher. Je n'ai jamais été aussi fort que toi._
> 
> I want to tell you the truth, but I'm scared. I'm scared that you'll hate me. That you won't want me. I'm scared that I'll ruin everything. I've never been strong, like you.
> 
> Please come scream at me!! xo


	16. Chapter 16

Draco stared at the spot Harry had just Disapparated from, a numb, hollow feeling filling him. All he could see was the look on Harry's face. The anger. The betrayal. He could still feel the way Harry's magic had felt - heavy and threatening against Draco's skin as it filled his house. He shivered at the remembered stab of fear he'd felt when that presence had crept into Scorpius' bedroom. Looking for him.

And what could he do but face it? He'd wanted to wait. To plan it. To tell Harry in a way that he could control. He'd been an idiot. Draco bent stiffly, as though he'd shatter into pieces if he moved too fast. He picked up the band of leather Harry had thrown at his feet. He wrapped it around his fingers and clenched his fist as he tried to feel something. The numbness was getting worse, fogging his mind and slowing his thoughts. 

Harry was gone. Harry had left and he was never coming back. That thought seemed too big to comprehend, and Draco felt himself shrink away from the reality of it.

Harry's last words ran on repeat through his mind. _You stay the fuck away from me_. It was apt, he thought dimly. They'd spent their whole lives saying that to each other, one way or another. He huffed out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. Harry meant it this time. Meant it in a way that he never had before. Draco had seen the cold certainty in his eyes. Harry would never forgive him for what he'd done.

Draco tightened his fist and the leather band dug into his skin, the tiny prick of pain barely registering compared to the tidal wave of anguish that was threatening to drown him if he let it in.

A sound, small and repetitive, finally penetrated the fog of his thoughts.  
'Papa? Papa, where are you?'  
Draco turned his head, awareness rushing through him. He'd left Scorpius in his room with barely a reason why and shielded the door. He rushed down the hall, opening the door and Scorpius tumbled out onto his legs. Draco knelt and Scorpius wrapped thin arms around his neck.

Draco hugged his son to him, sitting and drawing him onto his lap. He buried his face in Scorpius' hair and held him tight, trying to ground himself in the comfort of his child's presence.  
'Where did you go, Papa?' Scorpius asked, his voice small and worried.  
Draco's mind raced. What could he tell Scorpius? The boy liked Harry. A lot. It would hurt him to know he wouldn't see Harry anymore. Draco couldn't face that conversation now.  
'I just had to help my friend with something,' he said, hoping Scorpius wouldn't register the hint of a shake in his voice.  
'Mister Harry?' Scorpius asked, leaning back and looking up at him. 'Is he gone?'

Draco's breath caught at the words and he felt his thin veneer of calm falter. He didn't know what to say. He looked down into his son's familiar grey eyes and suddenly he wished his mother were here. He missed her desperately. There were times when he just wanted to be able to turn to her and trust that she would know what to do. Sometimes he felt like he was fucking up his entire life. Since he'd become a parent, his understanding of just how strong his mother had been had increased exponentially. He didn't know how she'd managed to keep everything together in the face of his father's schemes and the Dark Lord's presence.

Draco looked down at Scorpius and thought of how his choices had put the boy in harm's way. Not from Harry - one thing Draco knew without a doubt was that the moment Harry had realised Scorpius was in danger from his anger, he'd reined it in - but from Draco's own father. Scorpius was in those photos and it was Draco's fault. He hadn't done enough to protect his son. He hadn't known how to deal with his father and his bullshit with the same tact and grace his mother used to. He'd tried to emulate her, emulate the good parts of his childhood - striving to make sure Scorpius was happy and to raise his son in a way he thought she would have been proud of.  
But look at him. Draco couldn't even have a relationship without poisoning it. There was something wrong with him. Something wrong at the heart of him.

Scorpius was still looking up at him, his gaze changing from curious to anxious. Draco realised he hadn't answered the boy. He needed to focus, to stop the spiralling thoughts.  
'Yes, _mon cœur_ , he's gone,' Draco whispered, his voice breaking on the last word.  
He could feel himself starting to unravel. He couldn't do that here. Couldn't do it in front of his son. He had to hold it together long enough to get Scorpius in bed and then he could - he paused shaking his head mentally. No, that wasn't right. Something was tugging at the edges of his mind. Something important. About Harry. Draco shied away from the thought. He didn't want to think of Harry - he couldn't. The way he had left, the anger radiating from him as he ripped through the -

The wards. Draco felt an icy shock run through him. The house had no wards. He and Scorpius couldn't stay here. Draco closed his eyes, gathering a shaky breath. _Fuck_. The hint of anger he felt at Harry for exposing them - exposing _Scorpius_ \- gave him just enough strength to push his turmoil to one side. He couldn't fall apart yet. He had to make sure his son was safe first.  
'Do you want to have an adventure?' he asked. Relief flickered through him at the look of excitement on Scorpius' face.

Scorpius nodded, and Draco could see his son's worry over his strange actions melting away.  
'Okay,' Draco said. 'Go get 'Braxus and meet me back here as quickly as you can. I'll get supplies and then we'll go. Okay?'  
Scorpius nodded, wiggling off Draco's lap and disappearing back into his room. Draco sat on the floor for a moment longer and then he pulled his wand out of his pocket and cast a Patronus to Pansy. It was weak and hazy around the edges, but it would reach her.

He stood, Accio-ing a bag, some clothes and a few of Scorpius' things. He had plenty at the Estate, but packing gave Draco something to do. Something to keep his mind off the fact that his whole life was falling apart.  
Scorpius appeared a moment later with his stuffed dragon held under one arm. Draco cast a Notice-Me-Not over the flat - it wouldn't stop someone determined to get in, but would shield the place from casual observation. Then he bent, hoisted Scorpius to his hip and Apparated with a crack.

The wards around the grounds of Parkinson Estate let them through the gates without challenge. Pansy was waiting at the door.  
Draco had no idea what she saw in his face, but as soon as she caught sight of them, her own expression became one of deep concern. She opened her mouth, reaching out to him but Draco shook his head sharply, looking down at Scorpius, whose eyes were bright and excited after the rare Apparition experience.  
'Hello Scorp,' she said instead, her voice slightly too happy. 'What are you doing here so late at night?' She paused, as though thinking about it, and then gasped. 'Are you on an _adventure?_ '  
Scorpius nodded, a big smile breaking out across his face.

'I'm excellent at adventures,' Pansy said. 'Can I come too?'  
'Yes,' he said, 'but I don't know where we're going.'  
'You're going up to your room with me,' Pansy declared. 'And we're going to build a big pillow castle. Gran and Granda are sleeping, so we will have to be quiet though. Can you sneak up with me?'  
Scorpius giggled and nodded, turning back to Draco. 'Put me down, Papa. I need to sneak.'  
Draco gave him a kiss on the forehead and bent to place him on the ground. Scorpius reached out immediately for Pansy's hand and they began creeping off towards the stairs, with exaggerated steps.

Pansy paused, looking over her shoulder just before they went up. _Are you okay?_ she mouthed.  
Draco just shook his head, the churning thoughts and fears rising back in him now that his son was safe and his immediate distraction was gone.  
Pansy pointed up in the general direction of her room and Draco nodded. He didn't want to be alone tonight. 

Draco dropped his bag to the ground inside Pansy's bedroom door and went to kick his shoes off. He looked down. With dull surprise he realised he hadn't put any on when he'd left his house.  
Somehow that small fact, more than anything else, was the crack that opened the door to his pain. He felt it rush into him, a wave that threatened to drown him with its force. Harry had left him. He had lied to Harry, and Harry had left him and now he couldn't even think.

Draco heard the door open behind him but he didn’t turn around, expecting it to be Pansy. Instead, he felt strong arms encircle him from behind. Blaise.  
Blaise's low voice murmured in his ear, 'Come on now. Let's sit down.'  
Draco sagged with relief at his presence. He nodded and Blaise guided him to the bed, scooping up Pansy's thick woollen comforter and wrapping it over Draco's shoulders before pushing him gently down.

Draco sat on the bed, pulling his legs up and bundling himself inside the blanket. Blaise sat down beside him, putting an arm around Draco's shoulders and bringing him close.  
'It blew up, then?' Blaise asked, his voice a rumble with Draco's ear against his chest.  
'Pansy told you?' Draco asked dully, unable to summon the energy to be upset about it.  
Draco felt Blaise shrug. 'She didn't need to. I saw the way you looked at him at New Years. You've always had a thing for Potter.'  
Draco huffed a bitter laugh at that. A 'thing' didn't begin to describe what he felt for Potter - didn't begin to explain how it had been to have Harry's trust and his need and his secrets. Harry had given everything to him - had been honest and vulnerable with him in a way that Draco didn't think Harry had ever been with another person.

He felt the pain stab through him again, this time mixing with guilt. Harry had changed so much - had seemed so much happier and at peace. The idea that Harry might reconsider all those things he'd done with Draco - the freedoms that facing those parts of himself had allowed him to find … that hurt, almost more than the pain of Harry's rejection. Draco hated the idea that he might be the cause of Harry locking himself back down and refusing to take what he wanted from life.  
'I've fucked everything up,' Draco whispered, anguish rocking through him. 'I always fuck everything up.'

Blaise's arm tightened around him. 'I wouldn't be so sure. I saw the way he looked back at you, you know.'  
Draco just shook his head. 'I lied to him. I betrayed him. I - I did the worst thing I possibly could have done.'  
Blaise hummed noncommittally. 'You did some pretty bad things to him in school, too. Seems like he's forgiven you for those.'  
Draco shook his head again. 'This was worse.'

In answer Blaise rubbed lightly at Draco's back and Draco leaned against him, trying to hold himself together in the face of his spiralling despair.  
Blaise started to hum quietly. Draco didn't register it immediately, but when he did, it made the pain twist higher inside him.  
'Don't,' he said, 'Please.'  
He'd taught Blaise that song. He and Blaise had comforted each other with it, after the war. When things had been hard and dark and cold.

Now all he could think was that he had offered Harry that part of himself and Harry had fled from it. Draco slipped his hand in his pocket and rubbed his fingers over the band of leather within. He remembered Harry's face as he'd ripped it from his neck. The fresh flare of rage as Harry realised he'd been wearing Draco's 'collar' for weeks. Draco knew he shouldn't have put it on Harry to start with - collaring was significant. That sense of ownership went both ways. He had no right to stake a claim on Harry without him even knowing.

But that thought faded in the face of the memory of Harry ripping the band from his neck - Harry rejecting him - rejecting everything they'd done together. Even as he thought it, Draco knew that wasn't fair. He - Draco - hadn’t offered Harry anything, nothing true anyway. Nothing as himself. Harry didn't know how deeply Draco felt and wanted. Harry knew Ladon wanted him … but right now it was all getting mixed up in his mind - Ladon, Draco, what did it matter? It was all him. He had acted and Harry had run. Harry didn't want him. Would never want him. He should have known. Seven years of his life should have prepared him for the fact that Harry Potter would never want him.

Draco didn't realise he was crying until Blaise shifted, leaning back against the headboard and drawing Draco down beside him. He ran his fingers through Draco's hair, curling around the back of his neck, comfortingly.

'Is he worth all this, Dray?' Blaise asked softly.  
Draco thought of Harry Potter - his pain, his past, his strength, his desperate need to be loved. He thought of the way Harry jumped fully into everything he committed himself to - the way he responded so perfectly to being taken to pieces … the way he looked sitting on Draco's couch with his son, as though he belonged there.  
He bit his lip to stop the sobs that wanted to rise in his throat. Instead he buried himself in Blaise's chest.

Blaise's hand resumed its gentle carding through Draco's hair and Draco let his tears fall. He didn't realise Pansy had entered the room until he felt the bed dip behind him, and then she was curled around his back, a warm and solid presence as she wrapped an arm around his middle.  
They held him for a long time between them as he let his pain and the loss of what could have been pour out of him. He didn't make a noise - Malfoys didn't sob - but he let the grief wash over him as his friends held him safe.

Eventually Pansy stirred, putting her chin on his shoulder.  
'So do we have to take him out?' she asked, voice serious.  
Draco huffed a weak laugh at the thought. He didn't find it funny, not really, but he appreciated that she was trying to distract him slightly from his despair.  
'He's the Chosen One, remember?' Draco said wetly, remembering the awesome power Harry had demonstrated as he changed time itself to deflect a bomb blast a few weeks earlier. 'You wouldn't stand a chance.'

He took a deep, shaky breath. 'Anyway, what happened was my fault.'  
Pansy gave him a gentle nudge in the back with her shoulder. 'It might have been partly your fault -' Draco snorted grimly and Pansy pursued her lips. 'Okay, mostly your fault - but Potter's always been bull-headed. I highly doubt it was _completely_ your fault.'  
Draco shook his head against Blaise's chest, refusing to accept that.  
'I lied to him. I deliberately got him to make himself vulnerable to me. I -' he could feel his voice dry up as the confidentiality spells from the club kicked in. He couldn't speak of Harry's interactions at Release with Blaise present.

He felt Blaise shift and look down at him. 'Are you saying …'  
Draco cringed, waiting for Blaise's condemnation of his actions.  
'That kinky fuck,' Blaise said instead, voice thick with approval. 'I wouldn't have thought he had it in him. So that means …' Draco tilted his head up to see Blaise deep in thought. 'It blew up because he found out you were a metamorph?' Blaise asked, dark eyes meeting Draco's as he put the pieces together. Draco nodded, supposing that summary was as good as any.  
'Wait …' Blaise's eyes widened in surprise. 'You've been domming Harry fucking _Potter_ all this time?'

Draco dropped his eyes, shame rising through him at the memory of just how seriously he'd betrayed Harry.  
Pansy reached out to smack Blaise on the arm. 'Not the most important point here, Zabini.'  
Draco could practically feel Blaise glaring at her over his head.  
'What we should be doing,' Pansy continued, 'is figuring out how we're going to fix this.'  
Draco jerked his head around, pushing himself up onto his elbow to look at her. He wiped the wetness from his cheeks and sniffed.  
'What do you mean, fix this?' he said, voice rasping slightly. 'There is no fixing. He told me to leave him the fuck alone. He told me he never wants to see me again. _There is no fixing_. It's over. I fucked everything up and it's _over_.'

He pushed himself up as he spoke, sitting between the two of them, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. He felt the bed move as they both sat up as well, sitting close on either side of him.  
'So, what,' Pansy said. 'You're just going to give up?'  
Draco looked across at her, incredulous. 'There's nothing to bloody give up. Aren't you listening? It's over.'  
Pansy's gaze held none of the sympathy he'd seen when he'd first arrived at her door. Instead she wore that set expression she got when she knew she was right about something and was going to go down fighting for it.

'You're in love with him, yes?' she asked, eyes fixed on his.  
Draco hesitated, the thought bringing a fresh upwelling of pain. Finally he nodded once, a jerky movement.  
'He gives you what you need?' she asked again, and Draco felt the flash of a hundred moments of Harry giving him exactly what he needed - to be sated, to unwind, to be challenged, to be safe. He nodded again.  
'Scorp likes him?'  
Draco nodded, slower this time at the reminder that he'd brought his son into this mess.  
'He has feelings for you?'  
Draco's posture slumped at this. Any feelings Harry may have been developing would be long gone now, burned away by his rage at Draco's betrayal. Blaise reached out to put a comforting hand on Draco's arm, squeezing lightly.

'Potter has feelings for you?' Pansy repeated.  
'Had,' Draco said, voice muffled as he rested his head on his arms.  
'So you have a man,' Pansy said, ignoring the defeat in his tone, 'who you've been obsessed with, one way or another, for half your life. You're in love with him. He's perfect for you. He would be perfect for your family, and he was on his way to falling for you.'

'Why are you doing this?' Draco asked, raising his head again, a note of pleading in his voice. 'You told me to stay away from him over and over.'  
Pansy shrugged, and now some of the earlier sympathy and pain came back into her face. 'I don't want to see you hurting again,' she said softly. 'It took so long after Astoria passed before you started to smile. I don't want to lose you to that place again. Not when there's a chance this time.'  
'A chance of what?' Draco said hopelessly. The memories of his despair and loss after Astoria's death tugged at him, whispering of the solace he could find in that dark place again.

'A chance to fight for him,' Pansy said, her face set. 'You fucked up, yes, but when have you let a setback stop you? You spent six months fixing some weird old cupboard by yourself to save your parent's lives. You survived the Dark Lord living in your house. You started a successful business and made yourself into a new person. You lost your mother and your wife, but you made a life for you and Scorp, despite everything that's happened. Why should you give up now?'  
Draco looked at her, feeling a tendril of hope unfurl inside him. He crushed it. He couldn't afford to hope.  
'She's right,' Blaise said at his back. 'Potter's a Gryffindor. They love to fight and chase and to have big in-your-face declarations of love.'

Draco shook his head slowly. 'You didn't see him. He was so angry -'  
'He's always been a hot-head,' Blaise said dismissively. 'You used to brag about how easy it was to rile him up.'  
Pansy nodded her agreement. 'Wait for him to cool down and go see him. Owl him. Explain. Beg. Do whatever you have to do, to make him see you didn't mean to hurt him.' She paused smirking slightly. 'Except the times he wanted it, of course.'  
Draco looked at her, then turned his head to take in Blaise's equally certain expression.  
He couldn't … could he?

Draco knew he should do the right thing. He should let Harry have a life that was free of him. Draco tried to steel himself to that thought, but then a fragment of a memory floated into his mind: Harry sitting in front of him - in front of Ladon - voice a whisper, full of pain, as he said, _I want to be wanted … I want to be loved._  
The idea that _Draco_ might be the one who could provide Harry with what he wanted … that despite everything, there might be the slightest chance that he could be that person for Harry … Draco felt the tiniest band of hope wrap around his chest. 

It was just enough to hold the shattered pieces of himself together. It was enough to let him breathe again, for the first time that night.

\--------

Harry had Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. It was the first destination that came into his mind. All he'd wanted to do was to get away. But standing in his house - empty and dark - just made the things he'd run away from loom larger in his mind.

Malfoy was Ladon. Harry had spent months spilling his guts to Draco Malfoy. Malfoy knew the reasons he had those names tattooed on himself - knew the grief and guilt he still carried. He hadn't told anyone the real reason he'd marked himself with those names. Malfoy had absolved him of his guilt for all the deaths during the war and after - as though he had some right to. For a second Harry considered the guilts and pains Draco must carry, but he pushed those thoughts away. He was nothing like Malfoy and Malfoy didn't know him. He ran his fingers over his ribs, remembering the phantom pain of the whip and the feeling of having that burden lifted. But Malfoy didn’t have the right to lift it - was everything he'd said about it not being Harry's fault a lie?

Harry's thoughts continued to spiral. He'd talked to Malfoy about his pain at the fact that he didn't have kids. Malfoy knew that about him - knew that he carried death in him. Harry felt a his anger mix with a spike of fear as he remembered more - as he remembered despite trying to push the memories down and turn away from them. Malfoy had seen him stop time. He'd been infiltrating Harry's real life as well, worming himself closer for months.

He'd - shit - he'd lost it in front of Malfoy the night before. He'd gone to say goodbye to Ladon so he could see if something was going to start with Draco. He'd been such a blind idiot. Malfoy must have been laughing at him the entire time. Head Auror Harry Potter, and he couldn't even figure out what was going on right in front of his face. He wondered if Malfoy had enjoyed it - pulling him apart to see all the darkest and most painful parts of him. The old Malfoy - the one he'd gone to school with - would have jumped at the chance to learn Harry's secrets. To learn them and to use them when it would hurt him most.

He'd thought Malfoy had changed. He'd thought Draco had become a good person. But Draco had been lying to him for months - from the very beginning. The thought sent a deep ache of pain through him. It hurt to think of his ridiculous hopes of what might have been.  
Harry squeezed his eyes closed, pulling at his hair, unconsciously at first, then harder, trying to ground himself in the sting of pain.

The worst part was - even now - a part of him wanted to seek release in Ladon's arms. He wanted to go to Ladon and lay all this pain and hurt at his feet and let him take it away - take Harry to a place where things were clearer and he could understand what it was he should be doing or feeling.

He pushed that thought away. Ladon - Release - that would never be a path he could take again. Instead he thought of the only other place he could go when he wanted to escape. Wrapping his arms around himself, Harry Apparated from his house.

His feet followed the familiar path. The moon was bright but he didn't need it to see the way. He'd been here so many times now, to this place he hadn't known existed until he was seventeen years old. He passed by the gaudy tribute to his parents without seeing it. Instead he made his way among the gravestones, to the part of the cemetery that was quiet and still. He reached his parents' headstones and sank to his knees in front of them. 

'Hi mum,' he said, his voice rasping. He swallowed before he spoke again. 'Hi dad.'  
He looked at the stones, at the cold stillness of them, and he felt his pain well that little bit closer to the surface. He took a deep breath and wasn't surprised to feel it shake.  
'Everything …' He let his breath out. 'Everything is wrong.'  
He leaned back until he was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around them and looked at his parents' names, tracing them with his eyes.

'Things have changed,' he said quietly, 'Since I came to see you last. Me and Ginny … we aren't together anymore.' He sighed out a deep breath, wondering, not for the first time, what his parents would have thought of her.  
'I thought - I thought I'd found a way to be happy at last.' Harry had to stop speaking for a moment as the impact of that betrayal ripped through him again. He felt his eyes burn with tears he refused to shed. He'd thought Draco might be the one to complete him in a way he'd never felt before. That was a lie too.

He took another shaky breath. 'But I was wrong. I was wrong about so many things. And now -' He heard his voice crack, but made himself continue. 'Now I don't know what to do. And - and I just wish you were here.' The first tears began to fall. Harry wiped them angrily away. He didn't want to cry over Draco. He wanted to be furious. He wanted to cut Malfoy out of his life as if he had never been.  
Harry let out a bitter laugh that was partly a sob, at that thought. He would have to erase half his life if he wanted to remove Malfoy from it.  
Mostly, right now, he just wanted it to stop hurting. 

Harry leaned forward in the absence of any comforting words from the blocks of stone.  
He curled up against his mother's headstone and closed his eyes as he tried to imagine her arms around him. He pushed everything away but thoughts of his parents and what might have been. He let himself get lost in the world that he created when he was here with them.

Eventually, he fell asleep.

\----

Harry woke a few hours later, feeling stiff and sore, but calmer, emptier. It was still dark. He Apparated home, crawling into bed.

He was woken the next morning by a tapping at his window. He raised his head groggily and checked the time. It was already seven. He needed to get up if he had any hope of getting to work on time. He pushed the covers back and stumbled over to the window, opening it for the insistent bird. It held its leg out and Harry took the letter automatically, turning it over and absently Accio-ing his glasses from his bedside table.

The moment he made out his name in familiar flowing handwriting, he felt his blood freeze. Memories of the last few days bombarded him and he felt the pain come crashing back over him, threaded through with betrayal and anger. Wordlessly, he Incendio'd the unopened letter. What the fuck was Malfoy doing writing to him? How _dare_ he contact Harry in his own home.

Harry grit his teeth, glaring at the bird, which was still sitting on his windowsill, an affronted look on its face.  
'I'm not writing back,' he growled, 'so you can fuck off.'  
The bird ruffled its feathers before turning away from him and launching itself back out the window. Harry closed and locked the shutters behind it. Then he concentrated, feeling for his wards, and closing the loophole that recognised owls and granted them entry. 

He gave a grim smile - even the idea that Malfoy was trying to contact him sent emotion churning through him. Well, he wouldn't be able to any more. Then Harry considered for a moment, before jogging down the stairs, still in his boxers, and locking the Floo. It would make it more difficult to get to and from work, but there was no way known he wanted Malfoy turning up at his house. Not that Harry thought he would. He wouldn't. What possible reason would Malfoy have for coming to Harry's house? But then he certainly hadn't expected Malfoy to write to him either.

Harry pushed all of those thoughts from his mind. He needed to get to work. All this shit could wait. He'd had two days off and who knew what might have changed in that time. He started thinking about the case again for the first time since he'd clocked off. As he did so, he felt a shock of awareness run through him and then a sick feeling of fear.  
He'd invited Malfoy onto the case. All of the leads they were exploring - including Draco's father - were because Draco had pointed to them and Harry had trusted him, like a fucking fool. He cursed himself again, his anger flickering back to life at the thought that he may have jeopardised the entire case with his trust.

He called his clothes down to himself and dressed quickly, Apparating to the point nearest the Ministry without bothering to shower or eat. He needed to report his suspicions. They would have to examine every piece of evidence again. _Fucking FUCK_.

He rounded the corner and hurried towards the public entrance. He didn't pay attention to the people milling around the phone booth until they turned to him almost as one, rushing forward.  
'Harry Potter,' said the first who reached him, an older balding man. 'I'm from _Witch_ -'  
He was elbowed aside and Harry was looking into the bright green eyes and scarlet mouth of Rita Skeeter. ' _Harry_ ,' she said, her tone sugary sweet, though not even coming close to disguising the venom beneath it. 'The _Prophet_ would love an exclusive on your split from Ginevra. Was it mutual? Is she cheating? Are you? How do you _feel_ , Harry?'

Harry just stared at her for a moment, shell-shocked by the questions. He looked around at the half-dozen people staring at him with hungry gazes and belatedly recognised them as reporters from all of the popular papers and magazines.  
He had no idea how they'd found out that he and Ginny were divorcing - had Malfoy? No, he wouldn't … would he? Harry pushed the thought aside. He couldn't worry about that now and he'd be _damned_ if he said a word to the press about any of it.  
'No comment,' he growled, pushing past them and stepping into the booth. Rita followed in his wake, pushing others out of the way as she tried to wedge her hand in the door. Harry glared at her as he answered the questions from the automated reception and then she disappeared from sight as he sank into the ground.

Harry glared up at the place she'd been a moment longer, then he closed his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control. At least the press were banned from the Ministry unless by express invitation, and then only into the Atrium. He'd just have to avoid them. That was all. He could do that.  
Harry tried to ignore the headache building behind his eyes at the thought of another layer of shit to deal with. He made a note to himself to write to Ginny and make sure she was ok, then the lift stopped and he stepped out into the Atrium.

Harry strode forward single-mindedly, ignoring everyone around him. He put all thoughts of Malfoy, of Ginny, of the press and of the gaping hole in the middle of his chest out of his mind. He need to get to his floor, get to his office and get to his team. Then he needed to set about correcting some of his mistakes. He could do that.

Mrs. Norris wasn't due to start for another half hour, so Harry checked his desk quickly for anything urgent. He had two case files from Sue and he flipped through them as he made his way into the ops room. As he expected, she was there, reviewing evidence logs by the looks of it.  
She looked up as he entered the room, giving Harry a smile and a wave.

Harry didn't bother with pleasantries. He dropped into the seat opposite her.  
'Malfoy can't be trusted,' he said, crossing his arms and feeling his mood darken further as he thought about the hours and hours of work the team would now have to redo.  
Sue cocked her head to one side, gesturing at the case board, where a picture of Lucius Malfoy sat, glaring down at them. 'Yes,' she said. 'We've established that.'  
Harry shook his head impatiently. ' _Draco_ Malfoy.'  
Sue's eyes widened slightly, the only sign of her shock.

'What's changed?' she asked carefully.  
Harry stopped, his running thoughts coming to a halt. He tried to think of what he could say in response - what he could answer that question with. _Everything_ had changed, but not in a way he could reveal to the woman in front of him.  
'I found out he's been lying about a number of things,' he said at last. 'I have no reason to assume the information he's given us about the case isn't bullshit too.'

Sue watched him for a long moment. 'From what I've heard, you two seemed … close,' she said at last.  
Harry frowned. He didn't think anyone else had noticed the way he'd started feeling towards Draco. For a moment he remembered how good it had been to have Draco working alongside him in the office. He remembered the way Draco lost himself in his project, muttering to himself as he worked on a translation or looked up a reference. He remembered the home-made lunches Draco brought for him after that first day, and the way they would sit together and share them. He remembered the way Draco had felt comfortable enough to show Harry his Mark, and the way Harry had told him he'd paid enough for the damage he'd caused. 

How could he have been so wrong? His instincts never let him down like this. Harry felt something inside his chest clench. He just hoped no one paid for his mistakes with their lives. They needed to get this case solved and Malfoy was bound up in it, one way or another. Harry ignored Sue's question and the memories it had stirred.

'We'll need to get all of the evidence re-examined,' Harry said instead. 'We should divert a team onto it immediately. We'll need to widen our thinking around possible suspects too. We started with that list of five because Dra- because _Malfoy_ provided them. For all we know they were political rivals he was trying to do away with and he wants to take the Manor from his father. I have no idea what the truth is anymore.'  
Harry felt a blur of emotions at this thought - anger, resignation, grief, and a gaping sense of loss at what could have been. He caught Sue's shrewd gaze on him and he pushed all the thoughts away, afraid of what she might see in his face. The case was all the mattered - solving the case. He couldn't afford to be distracted by his emotions.

'Get a photo of him up on the suspect board too,' Harry said, meeting the eyes of Lucius' picture again. The man looked down at him with disdain, and Harry wanted to Incendio the whole board.  
He realised Sue hadn't responded, and looked back at her.  
'You want to make Draco Malfoy a suspect?' she asked calmly, as he met her eyes.  
Harry paused for a moment, and then nodded firmly.  
'Based on what?' she asked.  
_The fact that he let me believe I could fall in love with him and then took it all away._ The thought flashed through his mind in an instant before he pushed it away, but Sue must have seen something of it in his face.

'Harry,' she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice. 'You and I have worked together for a lot of years now, and I have the utmost respect for you.'  
She paused and Harry nodded grudgingly, getting the feeling he knew where she was going with this.  
'And that's why I'm going to speak to you instead of going to Javier with my concerns.'  
Harry just watched her as she continued speaking.  
'From what I have seen,' Sue said, her gaze steady and her voice certain, 'you let yourself get involved with a consultant on this case - one who has a direct family relationship to a key suspect. Now something's gone wrong and you're about to implicate that consultant as a suspect in a series of attacks that have killed people. You know, given Draco Malfoy's past, that this will not go well for him.'

Harry was silent, watching her. He _almost_ felt a twinge of guilt at the idea that all the hard work Malfoy had done to rehabilitate his image would be destroyed, but he hardened himself against it. It was all a game Malfoy played anyway, what did it matter if it blew up in his face? _He deserves it_ , a bitter, vengeful voice inside him whispered. Harry let it soothe some of the hurt that persisted in bleeding into him, despite his best efforts to keep his thoughts and emotions under control.

Sue wasn't phased by his lack of response.  
'You might be right about him,' Sue said with a slight shrug. 'You often are right about these things - it's one of the skills that makes you a brilliant Auror. But I want you to think very carefully before you put another photo up on that board.'  
Harry considered her a moment longer. 'Are you done?' he asked finally.  
Sue nodded. 'For now.' After a beat she added a very deliberate 'sir.' Though he was her senior, they hadn’t had a relationship where that distinction was significant for a number of years. Harry felt a twinge at the way she reminded him of it now, but he pushed that away too.

If he had to be an arsehole to get this case solved, he would be.  
'Good,' he said, standing from the desk. Then he looked around the busy briefing room. 'I want the head of the evidence, inquisition, and investigative teams in here in ten minutes,' he said loudly and heads turned towards him. He turned his back on Sue, where she sat with her files spread around her.  
'And someone get me a headshot of Draco Malfoy.'

\-----

Draco was at his wit's end. It had been eight days and he'd had no response from Harry. No indication that there had ever been anything between them. He'd stopped sending letters after day three when one of Pansy's owls had come back singed. Harry's Floo and Apparition coordinates were blocked. Draco wondered if that was a precaution due to the media shitstorm that had exploded once word of the Potter-Weasley divorce had got out. But his attempt at entering the Ministry had also been met with a very clear indication that he, specifically, been added to a 'banned entrants' list. More than that, he'd got the feeling that he was very close to being called in for questioning, from the way the Aurors at the doors watched him with sharp eyes.

He'd been ready to give up and to nurse his wounds in privacy. Hope was one thing, chasing a man who very clearly wanted nothing to do with him was another. He had some pride after all. Yes, he needed to make things up with Harry - wanted to try and move past what had happened - but that didn't extend to grovelling before a man who never wanted to see him again. It went against his nature to chase Harry to apologise, anyway. He tried to imagine what fifteen year old him would think of the situation, then gave it up for a bad joke. Fifteen year old him had been a prat.

He'd been close to giving up … until he'd seen Harry from across the Ministry's Atrium floor as he made his way out the door. Harry had looked … wound up, as though he was wrapped around himself with layers of misery and anger and pain. He'd looked the way he had when he'd first walked into Release all those months ago - as though he had no idea where he was in life and where he should be. He'd looked as though he was shouldering all the burdens of the world single-handedly, and that that was his lot in life.

The way he'd looked had made Draco want to march over to him and drag him home - to berate him and care for him and make him see how desperately he needed to care for himself, instead of pulling himself to pieces trying to be the hero again.  
But Draco had done none of that - he couldn't. Instead he'd watched Harry - had noted the days' worth of stubble, the dark circles under his eyes, the wariness in his step. Draco had watched Harry walk from the building and had felt his certainty crystallise. He was a Slytherin. The day he couldn't figure out a way to make Harry Potter listen to him was the day he laid down to die. Draco watched Harry leave and decided it was time to visit Granger and Weasley.

He turned up at their house that evening. Pansy had known where it was - the things she knew sometimes disturbed him. He'd left Scorpius sleeping soundly; the two of them were still staying at Parkinson Estate. Getting his wards repaired was turning out to be a more complex process than he'd expected.

The look on Weasley's face when he opened his front door to Draco was almost enough to make him laugh - almost. The man began to shut the door in Draco's face, his gaze darkening. But then he seemed to reconsider, opening it wide with a, 'No, you know what. You come inside and explain just what the bloody hell you've done to Harry.'  
Draco stood there a moment, staring at him, nonplussed at the words. Then Weasley reached out to grab him by the arm, pulling Draco forward a step until he jerked his arm free.  
'I was planning on coming inside,' he said, unable to help the cutting edge to his voice. He'd come here to ask for help. That didn't mean he could put up with being manhandled as well.

'Mione,' Weasley called as he turned to walk down the hall. 'Malfoy is here.'  
Draco, for lack of another option, followed him down the darkened corridor, which opened up into a bright and warm living room. Granger appeared in the doorway a moment longer, her hair bound in a scarf as though she'd been preparing for bed.  
Her eyes narrowed on seeing Draco and he wondered just what Harry had told them about what he'd done.

'Draco,' she said politely, though there was no hint of warmth in her face. 'Would you like a cup of tea?'  
Draco shook his head, not quite sure he could trust Weasley not to poison him. The man had crossed the room to stand beside his wife and was glaring at Draco with the sort of venom he remembered from their Hogwarts days. It was as though he'd just made another comment about Weasley's mother. Then Draco remembered the more recent reasons they had to hate him and he winced internally.

'Fine,' Granger said. 'Shall we sit, then? I assume you're here to talk about Harry?'  
Draco nodded again, taking a few steps forward and sitting into one of the patterned armchairs.  
'What did you do to him?' Weasley asked, remaining standing and crossing his arms. Granger reached up to him, tugging him into a seat beside her and he slumped back, scowling across at Draco, clearly expecting an answer.  
Draco paused, unsure where to start. He knew what he wanted from this conversation - a way to get some time with Harry to try to explain himself. But beyond that, he had no real sense of how it might play out.

'Have you spoken to Harry lately?' he asked, trying to get a feel for how much they knew and how much he would have to give. It was an old habit and it died hard.  
Granger nodded. 'I saw him at work two days ago, after I tracked him down because I heard he'd been on the warpath all week.'  
Draco absorbed that, feeling a renewed pain at just how badly he had hurt Harry. He didn't let it show on his face, though.  
'And you spoke to him?' he pressed.  
Granger frowned slightly. 'He wasn't in much of a mood to talk,' she admitted. 'Though he did make a joke about needing Ron's services to hide a body after all.' She turned to her husband with a look of faint disapproval. 'Which was what made us realise that somehow you were involved in whatever is going on with him.'

Draco nodded. So they didn't know much. He wondered how much to tell them. He couldn't break Harry's trust again. He knew the three of them were close but he also knew he had no right to assume Harry would be okay with them knowing the activities he'd consented to under Ladon. It was a moot point. He couldn't tell them those details anyway.  
Draco took a deep breath. 'Harry and I were becoming … close,' he began. 'In a number of ways.' He ignored the huff of disbelief from Weasley as he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes further.  
Granger watched Draco, unspeaking, and Draco was reminded, suddenly, that she worked in the Magical Law Office. He strove to choose his words even more carefully.

'I … withheld something from Harry. Something important,' he said, and watched both their faces for a response. Neither made a move. 'I had been going to tell him. I knew I should have told him a lot earlier. But that's irrelevant. He found out.'  
Granger crossed her arms, considering him a moment longer before she said, 'You're Samael Ladon, aren't you?'  
Draco stared at her, mouth open for a long moment as he took in her words.

'You -' he started. 'Harry told you?'  
Granger shook her head. 'He told me about Ladon, yes, but I only just connected the dots. I've been doing some research into BDSM and into the man Harry said he'd been meeting with.' She raised an eyebrow at him. 'Ladon? Really. You thought a name that literally means 'Dragon of Hera' was a subtle way of hiding your identity?'  
Draco flushed slightly, despite himself. 'It's worked up until now,' he said. Granger opened her mouth to reply, but Weasley interrupted them.  
'Wait, _you're_ the guy Harry's been seeing at this club? The one who's been hurting him?' Weasley's face was darkening more by the moment. Draco saw his jaw clench.

'I can't talk about what happens at the club,' Draco began. Weasley made an angry sound.  
Draco held up his hands. 'I literally can't. I'm bound by a confidentiality spell, and even if I wasn't, I wouldn’t reveal information about what happens inside a scene. It's very private and can be very intense for people. If Harry doesn't choose to speak to you about it, I can't do that for him.'

Weasley's glower hadn't subsided, and Draco knew he needed the man to be willing to help him, so he continued. 'I _can_ tell you that BDSM is all about consent. There's nothing that happens inside my club that the people involved don't want happening to them.' That same huff of disbelief from Weasley.  
'I've been a part of that life for about ten years now,' Draco said, leaning forward. It was important that he try to make them see. 'Since not long after school. It's not about hurting people,' he said, hoping they might be able to understand. It was a concept many people who didn't feel the need for that sort of experience often couldn't comprehend. 'Pain might be a part of what happens - not always - but the core of the experience is to allow people the freedom to be whoever they want to be - to explore their desires in a safe space, to take control or give control in whatever way they need.'

Weasley went to speak again but Granger put a hand on his arm, that same calculating look in her eyes. 'Why are you here?' she asked bluntly.  
Draco considered that question and all the many ways he could answer it. He looked at the two people in front of him and thought about the history between them over the years. He thought of their deep connection to Harry. He thought of Harry himself, and of the desperate need that lived inside his eyes.  
Draco took a deep breath and spoke. 'I'm in love with him.'  
He ignored the look of shock on Weasley's face and spoke directly to Granger. 'I want the chance to speak with him. I don't know if he will ever want me in return, but I can't watch him run away from the changes that he allowed himself to make when we were together.'

Granger nodded, as though she'd measured his words and accepted them, then she began to speak slowly, as though still afraid she was giving away secrets she shouldn't. 'Harry has always … had trouble expressing himself.'  
Draco nodded. That was one way to describe how Harry's experiences and traumas growing up had wrapped him in layers of duty and obligation and guilt and fear that he had embraced and made a part of himself.  
'After he started seeing … you,' Granger continued. 'Things changed.'  
Draco nodded again, glad that Granger had seen the same things he had.

'When I saw him the other day,' Granger frowned, her eyes speaking plainly of her concern, 'it was like all of that had disappeared. He was back to how he was in the first year or two after the war. Like he was still in the battle. Like he didn’t know how to get out and if he didn't save everyone, no one would.' She shivered slightly, looking into the distance as though remembering. Draco was struck, watching her, by the reminder that she had stood alongside Harry, all those years. She, too, had come up against the Dark Lord again and again.

He saw the worry etched across her face at the idea that Harry might be back in that place. Draco knew exactly what she meant about the changes in Harry. He'd seen some of that himself, even from a distance.  
'Whatever you were doing with him - as Ladon and as yourself, I think - it was helping him. That day we spent at the aquarium … I haven't seen Harry in public without that wary edge to him since we were in fifth year.'

Draco waited, but she didn’t say anything more.  
'So what do I do?' he asked. He refused to believe there was a note of pleading in his voice. 'I've owled him, Flooed him, tried to see him at home and work.' He spread his hands. 'He has no interest in talking to me.'  
'Harry doesn't like talking about things like that.'  
It was Weasley who spoke. Draco's eyes flicked to him in surprise. Weasley still looked grim, but the open hostility had faded from his face.  
'If you try to track him down, he'll run. He needs to do things. To experience them.'

Draco frowned at that singularly unhelpful advice. 'How am I supposed to -'  
Then he stopped speaking, his eyes widening as an idea flashed into his mind.  
'Weasley, I take back every bad thing I've ever said about you,' he said, rising from his chair. 'You're brilliant.'  
Draco turned for the door, and then paused, turning back, feeling suddenly awkward.  
'Actually I … want to formally apologise for my actions towards both of you in the past,' he said. 'I should have done it before now. I treated you both really badly and you have no reason to help me now. So I'm sorry, and thank you.'

Weasley and Granger both looked across at him from where they sat on the couch, the very picture of a strong relationship.  
'Harry is the reason,' Hermione said simply.

\----

As soon as he got back to the Estate, Draco went hunting for Pansy's old potions kit. He knew the attic space all her school things were stored in, and a few Muffliatos and Scourgifies later, he had what he needed.  
He went back down to his room, poking his head in Scorpius' door to make sure he was tucked in and sleeping well, then he put a lock on his door and went to sit on the bed, laying the tiny glass vials down in front of him. He took out his wand and called a quill to himself and then sat for a moment, thinking this through.

He was about to make himself more vulnerable than he ever had before. The idea of doing so made every instinct he had scream out in protest. Part of him worried what Harry would do with the knowledge Draco was about to provide to him. It was this thought that decided him. Harry had unknowingly given Draco so many of his deepest, darkest secrets. Doing this … it would just even the playing field. It would - hopefully - show Harry that Draco trusted him, and wanted Harry to know him as deeply in turn.

Decided, Draco took a deep breath and put his wand to his temple, focussing on the memory he wanted to draw out. He concentrated on bringing the emotion with it - on letting Harry inside his mind when he watched these memories play out.

_Draco was five years old. He'd been on holiday with his parents at their property in Loire, France. He'd wandered off from the châteaux and had spent a few hours playing with some of the local children._

_He never knew what his father did to the Muggle children when he found them. He just knew it sent them running from the river. Afterwards, even if he had wanted to chance another hex to the back of his legs that meant he couldn't sit for the rest of the holiday, the children never came back for him to play with._

Draco let his fear and confusion and the bitter words his father had spouted about the children being unclean and common and dangerous seep into the memory. Then he bottled it, scribbling a brief summary onto a tag. He raised his wand to his temple again.

_He was thirteen and he'd just been slashed by a Hippogriff. He remembered the pain and the rage and the fear of what his father would say that he had let himself be bested by a beast. He remembered wanting to hurt that oaf of a teacher in turn._

He bottled his spite and his hatred and his absolute knowledge that to be a Malfoy was to strike back against all who hurt you. Then he raised his wand again, pulling more memories from his mind. He re-lived the bully he had been all through school, laying it bare for Harry with no apologies or attempts to dissemble.

Draco stopped for a moment, pushing away the old guilt and regret. Then he took a deep, steadying breath and reached for another bottle.

_He was sixteen and his father came into his room late one night. The conversation was quick and cruel. The next morning Draco was taking the Mark, the pain of it ripping through his body. The worst part was that he had to accept it for the magic to take. He had to want it._

_He remembered looking into his mother's eyes. Seeing her love for him shining there. He remembered his father's words. 'She's dead if you don't.' He remembered wanting to serve the Dark Lord so his mother could live. He remembered the day he lost all respect for his father._

Draco bottled for Harry how it had felt to take the Mark. He raised his wand again.

_He was seventeen, staring into Harry Potter's distorted face as he knelt on the floor of Malfoy Manor._

He imbued the memory with his terror, his sense of hopelessness. The cruelty and suffering that the house run by Lord Voldemort founded. He bottled his weakness, at not choosing the right side to fight on. He bottled the way it felt to look into those green eyes and realise that seven years of petty rivalry had overshadowed the fact that Harry Potter could complete Draco in ways he was only just realising.

Draco raised his wand again and again, showing Harry his life after the war. His realisations. His changes. He drew out his first, halting experiences with Muggles and how damnably _hard_ it was not to judge them, to sneer at them, to pity them. They were less, he had been told, his whole life. It took him another life to learn that they weren’t less, they were just different. 

Draco showed Harry his first experience with BDSM and his knowledge that he could heal himself and help others reach that same healing.

He bottled his fierce love for his son and the fact that he would put Scorpius before any other life, including his own.

Draco let his triumphs and his tears and his weaknesses flow from him, laying himself bare before Harry, showing his all.

He slowed when he got to the scenes with Harry at Release. He decided, in the end, just to show one. He showed Harry how it had felt to edge him. To worship him. He poured his love and his fear of rejection and his overwhelming sense of awe and completion and _rightness_ into the memory. He poured all of his bitter conflict and guilt over whether to tell Harry into the memory and let Harry see him for what he was. Someone who was so far in love that he would ruin his chance at a relationship to try to keep it.

Finally, feeling mentally and physically exhausted, Draco penned the letter to go with them.

_Harry,_  
_This is the best and the worst of me. I wanted to lay myself as bare for you as you did for me - unknowingly. I know it's different, because I had a choice to do this, and I didn't give you that. But I hope you know that I will respect your confidences until the end._

_The ones with red strings have you in them. You might want to have someone you trust view them first if you decide to send these memories to the press or the DMLE labs._  
_Yours_  
_Draco_

\-----

Harry was in a foul mood. He had been for the last week. It was like there was a darkness hanging over him and he had no idea how to clear it. The case was stalling - it felt like his whole life was stalling. He knew people had started avoiding him, coming to him only when they had to.

And he couldn't keep Malfoy out of his head. Memories had been darting into his mind at the worst moments. He'd catch sight of the image of Draco on the case board, see that one eyebrow raised sardonically, and remember sitting opposite him, having dinner at his kitchen table. He'd be on the edge of sleep and he'd remember being laid out before Ladon - before Draco - as he took his pleasure in Harry.

He'd see a kid walking through the Atrium and would remember watching Malfoy with his son, and the care and love written through his whole body. It had been two days since Malfoy last tried to contact him. He'd tried to visit the Ministry - as if Harry wouldn't have thought to block him. A part of him wondered, as he sat in his office, catching up on case reports from the minor crimes team, whether Malfoy had given up. He didn't know whether the thought relieved him or disappointed him.

A raised voice broke into his concentration and Harry looked up, surprised by the sound. Mrs. Norris never got flustered, and she certainly never yelled the way she was now. He listened in.  
'I don’t know how you got up here, but the Head Auror is a busy man -'  
There was a murmur of noise and then Harry felt a spike of adrenaline run through him as Mrs. Norris spoke again.  
'It doesn't matter who you are, or how important it is, Ms. Parkinson. Without an appointment you can't just -'

Harry was on his feet and at his door before he realised he'd moved.  
He glared at Pansy Parkinson, who stood at Mrs. Norris' desk, looking immaculately put together, and not at all fazed by his sudden appearance. His secretary, on the other hand, was standing, her hand on her wand, as though on the verge of pulling it. Harry gave her a reassuring gesture then turned his gaze on Parkinson.  
'What do you want?' Harry said coldly.  
Parkinson held up a small case she was carrying. 'I have something for you.'  
Harry narrowed his eyes, glancing down at it. 'I don't want it. Get out before I have you escorted out.'

Parkinson glared right back at him, taking a step forward. 'Pull your head out of your damned arse for two seconds, Potter. Either you invite me into your office right now, or I will start very loudly sharing the reason I'm here.'  
'Excuse _ME_ -' Mrs. Norris began, but Harry held up a hand to halt her.  
He looked at Parkinson, considering for a second how easily he could silence and bind her before she even thought to reach for her wand. Then he sighed. She'd just come back. From what he remembered of the woman, she was nothing if not persistent.  
'Fine,' he said, turning on his heel and returning to his seat behind his desk. He waved his hand and slammed the door shut behind Parkinson as she sashayed in. She raised her eyebrows at his casual use of wandless magic, but didn’t comment.

She took a chair in front of his desk without invitation, crossing one leg over the other and setting the case on her lap.  
'Draco fucked up,' she said, without preamble.  
Harry snorted at the understatement, crossing his arms.  
'I know it. You know it. He knows it,' Parkinson continued.

'This,' she said, patting the case, 'he tells me is a selection of his memories throughout his life. To even the playing field, whatever that means.'  
Harry's eyes dropped to the case as he considered it, intrigued despite himself.  
'When he told me what he'd done,' Parkinson continued, 'I told him he was insane to give you that much power over him.' She fixed Harry with a fierce glare.  
'You could destroy him with what's in this case.' Her fingers tightened over it, almost protectively.

'Do you know what he said to me, Potter?'  
Harry watched her, unmoving, refusing to let his eyes drop back to the case.  
'He said trust is a two-way street and that if he ever wanted to earn yours back, he had to put that power back in your hands.'  
Parkinson leaned forward, placing the case on the edge of Harry's desk. She kept her hands on it as she stared into his eyes. 'You had better use what's in this case for the right reasons, Potter.'  
Harry could tell she wanted to say more, but she forced herself to finish speaking and let go of the case.

'This doesn't change anything,' Harry said, looking at the case again, that same hint of curiosity at its contents tickling at him.  
'Maybe not,' Parkinson said, standing and looking down at him. 'But the choice of what it changes or doesn't change is up to you. And Draco - Merlin take him - wants it that way.'

Harry watched her go, and then absently locked the door to his office with a wave of his hand. He looked at the case for long minutes, thoughts swirling through his mind. A part of him wanted to open it. To view the memories and to finally understand _why_ Malfoy had done what he had. Another part of him wanted to smash the case to the floor - to let the fragments of the past shatter and let the specter of Malfoy's presence in his mind shatter with them.

He reached for it, pulling it closer and lifting the lid. He moved the folded letter to one side and looked down into the dozen gleaming bottles. He could see the wisps of memory glowing blue as they undulated slowly in their containers. Each had a tiny tag attached and Harry could make out a few words. _Mark_. _Scene_. _First_. _Scorpius_.  
Abruptly he closed the lid, pushing the case away from himself.

He didn't want to do this. Didn't want to open himself up to Malfoy again. The last time he'd done that, he'd been torn to pieces. Harry stood abruptly and levitated the box into his tiny safe in the wall, before he strode out of his office.  
'I'm going out,' he said to Mrs. Norris as he passed her.  
'Young Mr. Lupin will be pleased,' she said.  
Harry stopped, turning back to her.

She looked up at him from behind the desk. 'The appointment was a tentative in your calendar, Mr. Potter, but I presumed you were taking up the offer of seeing your godson on his Hogsmeade visit?'  
Harry looked at her a moment longer, considering the idea. Maybe that was just what he needed to clear his head - some time with Teddy. He hadn’t seen the lad since Christmas after all.  
'Of course,' he said. 'I'll be back before three.'  
'Very good, Mr. Potter,' she said, as she returned to her work.

\----

Harry Floo'd to the Three Broomsticks, casting a Notice-Me-Not as he stepped from the fireplace. He'd been using them more and more lately. The press were rabid for an update about his divorce. The papers had been splashed with it, despite the fact only their official statement had been released. Even if it wasn't for that, Hogsmeade on a school visit was one place he was guaranteed to be mobbed by people. They learned about him in school these days. It was enough to make him sick.

He made his way out of the pub, walking through the streets of the town, keeping his eye out for a shock of brightly coloured hair that would lead him to Teddy. He thought as he walked, wondering what was really behind Malfoy's offer of the memories. He wondered if he should turn them in as evidence.

In the end it wasn't the hair that alerted him, but the howls. He was almost out of town when he heard them, coming from the direction of the Shrieking Shack.  
He picked up his pace into a jog, starting to run when he heard the shouting.  
'Dog boy.'  
'Wolf fucker.'  
'Arooooooooooooo.'

The idea that Teddy could possibly be anywhere near what was happening made Harry's blood run cold. As he rounded the corner and saw a ring of six or seven students surrounding what was very clearly a scared Teddy Lupin, Harry raised his hands, preparing to unleash hell, children or not.  
Before he could move, a blond-haired figure Apparated into the clearing, his back to Harry.  
Harry felt a jolt of surprise and something more - yearning? - as he recognised Draco. Malfoy immediately stalked forward, towards the group of children.

'Fawley, Rosier, Burke,' Malfoy snapped, standing in front of them. 'What is the meaning of this?'  
Three of the students, presumably those in question, edged backwards. Malfoy held out his hand. Teddy came forward immediately, clasping Malfoy's hand briefly, before standing beside him, his back to Harry. Harry watched them both, eyes glued to the scene unfolding in front of him.  
If he'd had to, he wouldn't have been able to take his gaze off the tall, slim form of Draco Malfoy as he issued orders in that tone that brooked no argument.  
'I asked a question,' Malfoy said. 'And I expect an answer. What were you doing to my cousin that required him to call me for assistance?'

There was a mutter from one of the boys and Harry heard Malfoy's voice snap, crisp and enunciated. 'Speak up, lad. Or you won't like my other methods of getting the information from you.'  
The boy swallowed, his eyes widening. 'We were just having some fun, Mr. Malfoy.'

'Fun?' Malfoy's voice was full of derision. 'Seven against one is fun, is it? Racial slurs are fun, are they? Your mother,' Malfoy pointed at one of the boys, who looked to be close to Teddy's age, 'Was one of the strongest advocates of the new Werewolf Rights Act. How do you think she will feel when I tell her about your attack on the son of one of the war's heroes?'  
There was a murmur from the boy in question.  
'No, I don’t believe she will be pleased.'

Harry saw Malfoy's head turn as he regarded each of the children in turn. All the bravado had gone from them as they stood before him, looking scared and uncertain. Harry felt something swell inside his chest as he watched Malfoy's handling of the situation. It felt like pride, or respect. It clashed with the anger and the betrayal that churned inside him still at the sight of Malfoy in front of him.  
'What you are doing right now is wrong,' Malfoy said, voice hard and certain. 'It might make you feel big and strong but it's _wrong_. I have connections to every one of your families, one way or another. If I even hear a _whisper_ that you are bullying my cousin, or any other student because of their creature heritage, I will have you pulled from Hogwarts so fast your nose will bleed.'

Harry watched, emotions running through him too quickly to categorise. He couldn't help but contrast Malfoy now, against these boys in front of them, who would have been no more than fifteen. Malfoy at their age would have likely been leading them - yet here he was, seemingly having abandoned all that prejudice. Here he was with no possible way of knowing Harry was watching his actions. The memories he'd sent could have been chosen specifically to paint Malfoy in a certain light. This scene, playing out before Harry's silent presence was an unfiltered glimpse of Malfoy's every day life, a glimpse of a life Harry had not truly allowed himself to believe was real.  
'Am I understood?' Malfoy asked sharply, breaking into Harry's conflicted thoughts.  
There was a chorus of 'Yes, Mr. Malfoy', and 'Yes, sir.'

Before Harry could gather himself enough to understand what he'd just witnessed and to leave, the children were streaming past him and Malfoy and Teddy had turned, Malfoy with his arm around the boy, pulling him into a one-armed hug for comfort.  
Harry froze as Malfoy's eyes moved over him and then caught on the shimmer of movement that his charm gave off.  
In a second Malfoy's wand was out and pointed at him. Harry debated Apparating away, but he didn’t want Teddy to be alarmed at the idea that someone had been watching him.

Instead he sighed and let the charm drop. As Harry flickered into view, Teddy's face lit up and he pulled out from Malfoy's arm, moving forward, towards Harry. But Harry's eyes were glued to Malfoy's face. A flicker of emotions passed over it - surprise, happiness, pain, chagrin, uncertainty. Then his expression smoothed. He didn't move from where he was, instead watching Harry, as though waiting to see what his first move might be.

'Harry!' Teddy said, his arms going around Harry in a hug. Harry pulled him close, breaking eye contact with Malfoy to comfort the boy, and to give himself a chance to gather his scattered thoughts.  
'Did you see Draco?' Teddy said, pulling back and looking up at Harry, all traces of his earlier fear gone.

Harry's gaze flicked over to meet Malfoy's. The man still hadn't moved forward, but his eyes hadn't left Harry.  
'I did,' Harry said, then he looked back down at his godson. 'I'm sorry, I didn't realise things were this bad. You should have told me.'  
Teddy shook his head. 'It's not like that in the castle. And Draco gave me a coin to use if I ever needed help.' Teddy shrugged, like it wasn't an issue. Harry felt a twinge of pain that Malfoy was closer to his godson than Harry was - that he was there for the boy when Harry was wrapped up in his own problems.

He looked over at Malfoy. Malfoy opened his mouth as though to speak, but then his eyes dropped to Teddy and he closed it again. Harry let his eyes linger on Malfoy - just for a moment. He'd forgotten how good Malfoy looked, he realised. How sharp and put together and in control. Though he looked tired as well, and fragile in a way Harry hadn't seen before - as though he was waiting for a blow to fall.

'Can we go to the Wheezy Hog?' Teddy asked, stepping back from Harry and looking at Malfoy before turning to Harry with a hopeful expression. Harry hesitated, frowning, eyes flicking to Malfoy again, who seemed to be waiting for him to speak. When Harry remained silent, Malfoy's eyes closed for a moment, as though in pain, then he took a deep breath and smiled, though it seemed forced.  
'I don't think we can both do that today, Ted,' he said, eyes meeting Harry's for the briefest instant, before moving back to Teddy's. 'I need to get back to work.'  
Harry felt that strange flicker of emotion again - the mix of relief and disappointment. He didn’t know why he should be disappointed. He didn't want to spend time with Malfoy. He didn't want anything to do with him.

'Okay,' Teddy said, his hair lightening to the same shade as Malfoy's as he stepped forward. Malfoy embraced him, whispering something in his ear. Teddy nodded. Then Malfoy let him go, stepping back and looking at Harry again.

He seemed to hesitate, before speaking. 'We're staying at Pansy's parents',' he said at last. 'Just in case you wanted to -' Malfoy glanced down at Teddy, then back up at Harry, 'talk.'  
Harry paused, taking that in, wondering at what else Malfoy wanted to say. Wondering, not for the first time, what the letters he'd destroyed had said. Wondering, again, what was in the memories Malfoy had given him.  
He didn't ask any of those questions, instead he nodded, making sure his expression didn't give away any hint of the thoughts running through his mind.

Malfoy watched him a moment longer, his eyes seeming to fill with the pain Harry had been feeling all week. Then Draco closed his eyes and turned on the spot, Apparating away.

Harry watched the spot he had been, wondering why Malfoy just wouldn't get out of his head. Wondering why the man had opened his own mind and laid it bare for Harry to view.

Harry watched the place Malfoy had disappeared from and thought about how all of his memories and all of Malfoy's actions kept pointing him back to the same place.

Then Teddy asked him if he was coming and Harry turned away, putting Malfoy from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much hurting. There weren't enough tears in the original books in my opinion ...


	17. Chapter 17

Harry watched the glowing number count down the floors as he sank into the depths of the Ministry. He tried to centre himself. He hated coming down to the Courtrooms. His early experiences with them - his own farce of a trial in fifth year, his trip through Dumbledore's memories of Death Eater sentencing, and his terrifying experience of Umbridge's Muggle hunts - had done nothing to endear the place to him.

It was better now than it had been … in some ways. The Wizengamot, at least, had been cleaned up. The laws had been reformed. Safeguards put in place. Though some could say - Harry indeed had said on more than one occasion - that the pendulum had swung too far back in the opposite direction. Harry had a strong feeling that he was about to experience the sort of cockblocking that ruined cases and let the guilty run free.

He stepped out of the lift at the ninth floor, pulling his dress uniform straight and squaring his shoulders before taking the staircase even deeper into the building, trying to ignore the cold and the silence that seeped into him as he took each step.  
He'd been feeling so numb lately, unsettled, uncomfortable in his skin … especially in the three days since he'd seen Draco Malfoy. Especially since he'd been dreaming of the man nightly. Especially since Malfoy's memories sitting, untouched, in the safe in his office were calling to him almost constantly. Harry pushed those thoughts away with an angry shrug. Now was _not_ the time, especially considering what he needed to achieve today.

The court was already assembled when Harry walked in the door, and he cursed internally when he saw that Myrcella Marchbanks was presiding today. The Chief Warlock wasn't always present, but when she was Harry was guaranteed a fight to get what he needed.  
He glanced around the circular room. There were a dozen red-robed officials in the rows of seating either side of Marchbanks' towering position atop the pillar in the centre of the room. 

Harry noted Shacklebolt was present and gave the Minister of Magic a nod, which he was relieved to see the man return, albeit minutely. Perhaps the Minister could help make sure the typical red tape bullshit didn't smother him today. Harry was less pleased to see Javier, taking his assigned position as DMLE Head, sitting beside Kingsley. Javier rarely attended warrant hearings, but of course he'd made a special exemption for this one. Harry supposed it was too much to ask that his boss may have caught dragon pox on his way into work. 

He'd been butting heads with Javier all week, trying to get the warrants to search Malfoy Manor, the Avery residence, and other locations they had identified in their renewed search of the evidence in what were now known as the Muggle Killings. Harry didn't like the title. The Ministry were using to refer to the Muggles who had died in the bus crash and the bomb attack, but Harry had a feeling others were using it to continue the insidious campaign against Muggles, claiming they were killers, perpetrating the vicious attacks that had left several witches and wizards injured and Cordelia Avery dead.

Javier had refused Harry the warrants, citing his lack of hard evidence at every turn. When Harry had finally shouted at him, asking Javier how the _fuck_ he was supposed to get evidence when he couldn't search any of the _fucking suspects' houses_ , Javier had sent him to a date with the Wizengamot. Harry supposed he should have kept his temper, but he'd been on a knife edge for too long and it was getting harder and harder to pretend he was fine. 

He stepped up onto the platform in the centre of the room. It had formerly held a chair, a vicious thing that restrained petitioners, forcing them to be displayed before the court - whether they were guilty or innocent. The chair was gone, a simple lectern now in its place, but the feeling of being judged by those assembled was pervasive.

Harry put his papers on the stand in front of him, keeping from clenching his teeth. He fucking _hated_ having to petition the courts for warrants. He should have just kept his damned temper. He tried not to think about just why he was finding that so bloody hard.  
Harry focussed his gaze on the podium in front of him as Marchbanks spoke.  
'Head Auror Potter, you have come to petition the court on the matter of the Muggle Killings case?'  
Harry took a deep breath and let himself slip fully into his role as Head Auror. He'd done this a dozen times before. A hundred. This case would be no different. The fact that he wanted a warrant to bring in someone who had fucked him - literally and figuratively - made no difference.

'Yes, Chief Warlock,' he said clearly, hands clasped loosely in front of him. He focused on the top file, sending it floating wandlessly and wordlessly to Marchbanks' seat, duplicating it in midair to send a copy to the Court Scribe. He heard a murmur from the gallery at his casual use of wandless magic and mentally ticked one point to himself. If he had to be Harry fucking _Potter_ to get this done, so be it.  
'As you can see,' Harry continued, 'we have a list of four locations that we're requesting search and retrieve warrants for, and seven suspects we'll bring in for questioning. For one of those, we need an arrest warrant, and we need an extradition for another.'

Marchbanks scanned down the list and Harry saw her eyes narrow as they reached the bottom.  
'We will deal with the matter of the locations first,' she said. 'Please report on the evidence and due process followed to identify these locations and the expected outcome of the search.'  
Harry nodded and wordlessly sent a thicker sheaf of papers to her, noting the eyes of the other Wizengamot members as they lingered on the lack of a wand in his hand. He felt a curl of satisfaction as he noted Javier's scowl.

Harry began to outline the reasoning behind the choice of locations and the relevant connections to the case.  
He started with the ones he knew would be approved and which Javier could just have signed off if he wasn't a monumental prat, determined at every point to undermine Harry's ability to do his job.  
'The warehouse has been identified through Muggle surveillance methods as being the one the van that was driven into the busload of people departed from the morning of the attack. We also have surveillance footage showing the Muggle who detonated the bomb at New Year's was present in that area, though we can't prove he entered the building.'

Harry saw Marchbanks nod and scribble something down, and he mentally ticked that one off.  
'The clockwork factory is Muggle-run, but wizard-owned. We identified traces of magical signature on the bomb remnants, and it matches a scan taken from a previous owner of the factory. He's now deceased, but we believe the parts and technology still present at the site may have been used to assemble the device.'  
Marchbanks nodded again and Harry took a deep breath. Here was where it would get more difficult.

'The Avery residence has been identified as a location of interest due in part to the connection to one of the victims, Cordelia Avery, and in part due to the former presence of one of the suspects, Rudolf Avery, nephew to the deceased.'  
Marchbanks shuffled some papers, looking down her nose at him. 'Rudolf Avery is the person for whom you wish to have the extradition order issued?'  
Harry nodded. 'He was sighted in the Loire region of France two weeks ago, and our information indicates he has been residing there for a number of months.'

Marchbanks placed the papers flat. 'Let us move, then, to the matter of suspects, Head Auror. We will deal with the Malfoy residence momentarily. Five of the seven you have listed here have already been questioned as a part of this investigation?'  
Harry knew the question was just for the scribe's documentation. Marchbanks didn't ever forget a fact; it was one of the things that made her such a formidable Chief Warlock - that, and her unshakable devotion to the letter of the law.  
'Yes, Chief Warlock,' he confirmed.

'You are aware, of course, Head Auror, that Resolution 735 of the Rights and Justices Accorded to Citizens Under Suspicion of Crimes Act requires new evidence to be provided - _compelling_ new evidence to be provided to justify a secondary questioning?'  
'Yes, Chief Warlock,' Harry said, trying to bite back the words he wanted to say. 'I would draw your attention, however, to the fact that we first questioned those suspects under the assumption that the attacks were directed by Muggles. We did not have a clear connection to magical involvement, beyond the suspicion of an Imperius use.'

Marchbanks watched him a moment, then looked back down at the papers in front of her. 'Your evidence consists of traces of magical residue found on the body of the second Muggle attacker and a series of letters between Lucius Malfoy and an unknown correspondent known as 'The Heir'?'  
'Yes, Chief Warlock,' Harry confirmed.  
Marchbanks flicked through the pages again. 'You have identified however, that this evidence may have been tampered with? This is the reason for including former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, as a suspect to be questioned?'

Harry felt a spike of anger rise at the reference to Malfoy as a former Death Eater. That had no bearing at all on the current case. Following quickly after it was a surge of confusion. He shouldn't be wanting to defend Malfoy. He was furious at him. Half the reason he was here was here to get a warrant to question Malfoy.  
Harry gritted his teeth, frustrated again at the lack of progress anyone in their team had managed to make on translating the letters that Malfoy had worked on two weeks earlier. No one had been able to see the easy connections Malfoy had identified, or get inside the mind of Lucius Malfoy the way Draco had seemed to be able to do so easily. 

It led Harry to two possible conclusions: one, that Draco's intimate knowledge of the subject and the subject matter meant he was uniquely positioned to be able to crack the case, or two, that he had been making the whole thing up - leading them down a path for his own purposes.  
Harry wasn't sure, from moment to moment, which he believed.  
Though if he was honest with himself, lying in bed in the dead of night - the only time he really let himself feel how much it still _hurt_ to know how badly Draco had lied to him - a part of him knew Draco had not been involved in the Muggle Killings.  
But he was like a scab that Harry just couldn't stop picking at, no matter that it meant that the wound wouldn’t heal. He tried to tell himself that wasn't the only reason Malfoy's headshot was on the board of the briefing room, though the conviction felt hollow. The only thing he knew was that Malfoy just wouldn't get out of his damned head.

'Yes, Chief Warlock,' Harry said again, unable to voice any of the thoughts racing through his mind.  
Marchbanks looked across at Javier for a moment, then back across at Harry. 'Mr. Malfoy was brought in at your orders to examine those documents?' she asked, despite clearly knowing the answer to the question.  
Harry nodded, pushing away the pain that still stirred inside him at the memory of that time with Malfoy - at how good it had felt to share his space with the man each day. He focussed instead, very deliberately, on not giving Javier the glare that wanted to rise at those words.

'It shows remarkably poor judgement, Mr. Potter, to bring in a consultant on a case that directly implicates a close family member and to then give free access to significant evidence.'  
Harry felt those words hit home, alongside her deliberate use of his name, instead of his title. He absorbed them, knowing they had come straight out of Javier's mouth, and knowing that everyone in the room was suddenly questioning his handling of the case in a way that they hadn't been a moment earlier. In his darker moments, Harry had found himself questioning his judgement as well - about a lot of things.

'The Ministry and the Wizengamot are getting unprecedented poor press coverage regarding the Muggle Killings,' Marchbanks continued. 'Normally this Court pays no heed to the papers,' she said, sniffing disdainfully. 'However, reporting has indicated that the bungled handling of evidence, lack of due process and the divided focus of the Head Auror, are on the public's mind. This Court cannot be seen to be upholding less than the utmost standards of the Law,' Marchbanks finished, fixing Harry with hard eyes.

Harry felt a hot anger mixed with a twist of shame rush through him. He hated what the papers were doing, picking his and Ginny's lives apart, as though they had any right to know how things had been between them. He didn't _owe_ the public anything. He was sick of owing them.  
'My divorce,' Harry said coldly, the word sounding uncomfortable and sour in his mouth, 'has absolutely no bearing on the ability of myself or my team to handle this case with the utmost professionalism. Due process is being upheld this very moment,' he said, gesturing around the courtroom, 'and I will not have it said that my team acts outside of the law. As for the handling of evidence, yes, an error was made, but we plan to rectify that error by taking the actions detailed before you,' he finished, a sharp wave of his hand the only indication of the emotion boiling through him.

'Be that as it may, Head Auror, the Court must make decisions within the laws. You are granted a warrant to search the warehouse, the factory, and the Avery residence, based on evidence gathered.'  
Harry opened his mouth to protest the exclusion of Malfoy Manor from the list, but Marchbanks held up her hand. 'Of the seven suspects listed, you do not have leave to re-question the five that have already been interrogated. I do not see sufficient evidence to warrant the breach to Resolution 735.'

Harry could barely contain his anger. One of those five already questioned was Lucius Malfoy. Not only was he being banned from searching Malfoy Manor, but he was being denied the ability to question Malfoy again as well - denied the arrest warrant he'd applied for. Lucius' son may have twisted the evidence, but Harry's gut told him Lucius was at the centre of this.  
He almost missed the Chief Warlock's next words: 'Avery cannot be extradited based on the evidence supplied. A suspicion someone may be involved in a case is not strong enough for an international order, which you well know, Mr. Potter. You have leave to send a team to interview him in France, but no more, unless new evidence is found that links him to the case.'

Harry just looked at her, furious but willing his face to stay impassive, waiting for the farce to be over.  
'You will be granted a warrant to interview Draco Malfoy in relation to the case, his involvement with other suspects and his handling of evidence while on Ministry property. I trust that will be sufficient.'  
Harry felt a stirring of something inside him at the thought that he was going to bring Malfoy in for questioning. He wanted to see it as triumph, but he couldn't help the insidious whisper that sounded more like doubt.

Harry looked up at the older woman and the serene satisfaction on her face suddenly reminded him of Umbridge all those years ago - so secure in the knowledge that she was doing the right thing but so utterly wrong in those convictions.  
Harry ran a finger over the words scarred into the back of his hand as he looked up at Marchbanks and thought about how much he wanted to tell her where she could stick her fucking _sufficient_. But he kept his mouth closed, refusing to give anyone in the room the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper. 

Marchbanks watched him a moment longer, then pushed the papers in front of her into a pile, lifting her wand and vanishing them to the archives.  
'That will be all,' she said, and Harry was dismissed.

\----

Draco had just dropped Scorpius off at Parkinson Estate when the Aurors arrived. He was outside of the wards and about to Apparate to Release when they popped into existence around him, wands drawn and pointing at him.  
Draco took one look at the four red-robed figures surrounding him, their faces hard, then he raised his hands slowly, looking back over his shoulder to see with relief that he was out of sight of the kitchen where he'd left Scorpius having his dinner.

'What is the meaning of this?' he asked, looking directly at a tall woman with the gold bands of a team leader at her shoulders.  
'Draco Malfoy,' she said, though seemingly not in response to his question. 'We have a warrant in your name. You will provide us with your wand and you will accompany us to the Ministry of Magic to be questioned in relation to the Muggle Killings case. We would advise you not to resist.'

Draco looked at her, feeling the shock of the words hit him, and then the meaning of them and the reasons behind them.  
He narrowed his eyes. Harry. Harry had done this.  
Despite the fact that a part of Draco had been expecting something like this, the action felt like a betrayal. Harry was doing this to get back at him - to hurt him. When word got out that he had been questioned in relation to the Killings, Draco knew he could count on one hand the number of people who would be willing to be connected to him. He could just see the headlines now. 'Former Death Eater Behind Muggle Killings?', 'Malfoy Heir Follows Father's Footsteps.'

Draco felt his guilt and regret over the past few weeks stir, and begin to shift. He felt the first hints of anger begin to rise in its place. Potter had done this to hurt him - despite the fact that Draco had practically begged for Harry's forgiveness. Despite the fact that he had laid himself bare to apologise. Had Harry even watched the memories? Had he watched them and laughed - and decided he could use them to hurt Draco in turn?  
The idea sent a frisson of doubt through him. Harry wouldn't do that … would he? Two weeks earlier, Draco would have been sure of the answer. Now - now, Potter was basically having him arrested within fifty metres of his son. Anger battled the doubt, pulling it under and rising in its place, making him feel sharp and alert.

Draco looked back at the three Aurors surrounding him, wands still drawn.  
'My wand is in a holster against my left forearm,' he said clearly and quietly, voice cold. He might have been expecting something like this, but that didn't mean he had to let them know how much it hurt. 'I will not resist. However, you have made a mistake.'  
The team leader ignored his words, nodding at the man to her right, who left stepped forward, holstering his own wand to grab Draco's arm, shoving his shirtsleeve down to reveal the leather straps, and underneath them the faded skull, with the snake twining its way out.  
At the sight of the bared Mark, all four recoiled slightly and Draco felt his anger flare higher at the judgement in their faces. What fucking _right_ did they have to look at him and think they knew him? The Mark on his arm was his past. He very deliberately kept that part of him private, and now Harry had forced him to show it to a group of people he was about to trust his freedom to.

Draco held those thoughts inside, keeping his face smooth and calm as his wand was taken from him. He ignored the rough grip as his hand was twisted behind his back, one of the other Aurors stepping forward to do the same on his right side.  
Draco swallowed a grunt at the stab of pain as his arms were forced up behind him, and then he was ripped into a three-way side-along. He forced himself to relax. The only thing he could do was to give the impression that this was all some sort of mistake, and that he was innocent - _which he fucking well was_. Damn Potter and his hot-headed arrogance. The man couldn't see two feet in front of his own face when he fixated on something. What in Merlin's name was questioning Draco going to achieve aside from wasting everyone's time?

They landed at an Apparition site Draco didn't recognise and he was pushed forward, arms still held behind him, while the two remaining Aurors walked behind him, wands still drawn. He spared a thought for the fact that at least he wasn't being paraded through the middle of the Atrium. It might be after seven, but the fewer people who saw him in this state, the better.  
They entered the Ministry through a side door Draco had never seen before and it took them straight to a set of lifts with only two options. DMLE on Level 2 and the Courtrooms via Level 9.  
Draco looked at the options and felt a hint of uncertainty run through him, undermining his anger.

He turned his head to look over his shoulder. 'Do I have the right to alert someone to my whereabouts?' he asked of the tall woman with the team leader stripes.  
She considered him cooly for a moment. 'Of course,' she said, fake sincerity in her voice. 'You're not under arrest, we merely want to see if you can assist us in resolving a case. As soon as your wand is returned to you, you will be able to inform whomever you like regarding your location.'

Draco considered playing the lawyer card. He knew he could have someone here within minutes, but a part of him wanted to see how this unfolded first - wanted to see what Potter's game was before he decided how he wanted to react to it.  
He merely nodded instead, as though it was of no consequence. He turned back around to note that they were headed to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, rather than the Courtrooms. He couldn't decide how he felt about that. The only time he'd been in the Courtrooms was twelve years earlier when he, his mother and father were sentenced for their involvement in the war. It wasn't a space he had fond memories of - he mostly remembered being terrified he was going to be sent to Azkaban.

However, he'd never had reason to be inside an Auror interrogation room, and he wasn't sure it was an experience he needed to undertake any time soon.  
The lift opened to a long corridor with a series of doors on either side. He was pushed forward, keeping his face smooth to hide a wince as his shoulder was jerked hard. They advanced down the corridor until they reached a room marked '12', and then the team leader stepped forward, unlocking it with a wave of her wand.  
Draco was shoved inside and he looked around the small, brightly lit room. A table sat in the centre, with a chair on either side. The walls were a light grey, one of them glass.

Draco was walked to the chair facing the glass wall and pushed into it. He almost groaned in relief as his arms were released, but instead, he merely brought them in front of himself, neatly re-buttoning the cuff of his shirt where it was dangling open after his wand had been removed. He folded his hands in front of himself on the table and looked slowly around the small room.  
Three of the Aurors walked out of the room without looking back at him, but the team leader remained stationed at the door, watching him as it closed behind her people.

Draco didn't look at her, instead he turned his focus inwards, calming and strengthening himself. He thought about how he could make his innocence clear and at what point he would just tell Potter to fuck his head games and would show the Ministry just how much power his name could still command.  
He drew on his focus and his control, channeling the skills he had learned over a number of years of reading people and delivering their wants and needs back to them. He let his sense of his own power flow through him. If Potter thought he could play Draco, he had another thing coming.

When the door opened and the interrogator walked in, Draco smiled coolly, but remained silent.  
The man sat down opposite him, looking Draco in the eyes with a confidence that said he had done this _many_ times before. He looked to be in his early fifties, hair greying and face worn, but despite that his gaze was sharp.  
'My name is John Murphy,' he said, 'and I am a Senior Interrogator for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.'  
Draco watched him, making it clear he was listening but not offering anything more.

Murphy looked unfazed by his lack of response.  
'I'm going to start by asking you a series of questions,' he said, 'to establish some facts. And then we will move into exploring your understanding and motives around a series of events.'  
Again Draco just watched him, noting that Murphy had brought no papers with him. There must be recording charms on the room. Draco glanced around again, not noting any sign of the faint glow that usually identified such charms - he had considered using them in the club, when vetting new clients, but had decided against it due to the telltale nature of the glow.

Draco's eye caught on the window-wall. He noted that Murphy wasn't sitting directly opposite him, and that from the right angle, he would be directly visible through the window. Draco considered it, cocking his head slightly. He _knew_ that one-way glass existed. That was something Release definitely employed. He supposed the recording charms were behind the glass. Then a thought struck him, and he considered his reflection in the glass more closely, as he wondered _who_ was standing in the room behind the glass - who was watching him right now.

'Are you Draco Lucius Malfoy?' Murphy asked.  
'Yes,' Draco answered absently, not taking his eyes off the glass. He was growing more and more certain by the moment that Harry was behind the one-way glass - that Harry was watching as one of his interrogators attempted to get Draco to admit to something he hadn't done. The idea sent a wave of cold fury through him and Draco felt himself slip completely into the mindset he drew on when he dommed. 

Harry had taken this too far. How dare he use his power and his position to arrest Draco - an hour earlier in the day and it would have happened in front of Scorpius. Draco narrowed his eyes at the glass. Potter wanted to play power games, did he? Fiendfyre would freeze before Draco rolled over to publicly grovel for Potter's forgiveness. _Draco_ would be the one in control of what would happen next, not Harry fucking Potter.

\----

Harry Apparated home from Ministry early that night - if early could be considered to be almost three hours after he was due to come off duty. Malfoy's interview had taken much longer than he'd anticipated. Harry was still unsettled by the entire experience. It was as though Malfoy had known he was standing behind the glass. His eyes were constantly searching the surface, like a hawk seeking its prey below.  
Malfoy didn't direct a single answer to Murphy, instead he had fixed with a strange intensity on the space where Harry stood and watched.

Harry didn't know what to make of the interview. Malfoy had seemed calm - unruffled by the questioning, except for the slight edge to his voice and the tightness around his eyes. Someone who didn't know him might think he was unaffected, but Harry could see the cold fury written in every line of Malfoy's body. It gave him pause, to see that reaction - so different from what he'd expected. Harry had thought maybe after the letters, after the repeated attempts to visit, after the memories, that Malfoy would be regretful, contrite, soft somehow. Harry wondered again at what was inside those glowing vials of memory. He wondered if perhaps he should have watched them, should have given into his curiosity before he called Malfoy in.

The impression Harry had got from watching the man was that he may just have pushed Malfoy too far. It made him feel … uncertain. Harry wondered just how much he'd been relying on the idea that Draco wanted him - that Draco would chase him. He began to wonder, for the first time, if maybe he'd made a mistake … if maybe he should have let Draco explain. If maybe there _were_ reasons that explained his actions, reasons beyond the childhood suspicions that Harry had allowed to bloom back into life.

Harry pulled his Auror robes off, throwing them over the back of a chair and calling a bottle of firewhisky and a glass to himself as he sank into his armchair with a sigh. He put his feet up on the coffee table, leaving his boots on as he let himself think back over the interview, running his mind over it again and again, pulling out the key points to turn them around. He tried to separate himself - his thoughts and emotions - from the facts of what had been said. But it was hard. Watching Malfoy from behind the glass had been far more difficult than he had imagined. A part of him had enjoyed the chance to just watch, unseen, to let his eyes trace over Draco's features, noting the hardness to them, the sharp beauty that had lured him in.

He'd watched Draco smoothly move around Murphy's questions, seemingly answering them in full but always two steps ahead. A part of Harry was impressed by the deftness with which Malfoy handled the questions, revealing exactly what he wanted to, and no more.  
Malfoy's comments again and again edged towards things that Harry knew, or had experienced with Malfoy at some point over their lives. Harry knew Malfoy was speaking directly to him, while still managing to answer Murphy's questions in ways that satisfied him.

The longer the interview went on, the more Harry could feel himself wavering in his suspicions about Malfoy's motives. Especially when Murphy had asked why Draco had submitted his father's name as a suspect after the bus crash.  
Harry swirled the amber liquid around in his glass, closing his eyes as he remembered.

Draco's grey eyes had bored into Harry through the glass as he spoke.  
'My father is a monster.' His voice was hard, reinforcing the intensity of his words. 'He is a blood supremacist, who, despite putting his own life and the lives of his family at risk again and again, continues to hold to old ideals in a vain attempt to clutch at power that has long since been taken away from him.'

Not a trace of regret passed over Malfoy's face, but Harry remembered how it had been at school, the boasts of a young boy secure in his father's power and regard. He fancied he heard an echo of that betrayal of trust in Draco's voice and he felt something in himself reach out, wanting to comfort Draco - remembering the ways Draco had comforted him, held him, as he relived the traumas of his past.  
'I submitted my father's name because I believe he is intimately involved in these crimes, if not masterminding them. Everything I gathered through his correspondence reinforced that belief. He is a very dangerous man, with very dangerous ideas.'

Harry had watched Malfoy speak, and wondered what it would take to have your own relationship with a parent so damaged that you could view them as absolutely irredeemable. He remembered his own sense of betrayal at learning of his father's arrogance at school, of his bullying. He wondered how hard it would be to believe that your father was a monster.

The only time during the interview when Malfoy's veneer of control had cracked had been at the mention of Scorpius.  
'Why do you think your son's image was among the photos found at the second crime scene?' Murphy had asked.  
Malfoy's face paled and he closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds, but not before Harry could see a world of pain and fear reflected within. It shook him to see Draco's heart written across his face like that. It made him reconsider - seriously reconsider - whether Draco really could be involved in something that put his son at risk in any way. Draco was not his father. It was clear that he loved Scorpius more than life … was it possible to imagine he'd be involved with something that had the potential to harm Scorpius?

Harry sighed, draining his glass and tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. He didn't know what he was doing. Had there been any point in bringing Draco in? Was he actually involved in any way, or was he just a victim like any other? Harry felt like his instincts were letting him down. A part of him wondered if maybe he'd subconsciously just wanted to see Malfoy again … to have his attention again. He pushed the thought away. He wasn't that petty … was he? Harry frowned, angry at himself now. He could normally trust his gut for these things, but his gut was a roiling mess of emotions he couldn't get straight.

He was still staring at the ceiling when the glowing silver shape of a Patronus burst through it, flying at him. Harry flinched back as the flowing lines of a phoenix swooped towards him, opening its mouth. Then Harry heard Draco's voice issue forth, strong but full of anger and fear.  
'He's gone. Scorpius is gone. It happened while I was at your _bullshit_ interview. Parkinson Estate. Floo's unlocked. _Get here now_.'  
Harry stared at the flowing lines of the bird for a second longer as it dissolved into mist, then he shoved to his feet, pulling his robes back on as he sprinted for the Floo, hitting the charm to unlock it. He threw a handful of powder into the grate and shouted for Parkinson Estate, jumping into the flaring green flames before he had a chance to consider what he was doing.

He stepped out into a kitchen and was immediately faced with a shouting Draco, pacing back and forth in front of Pansy Parkinson while an older couple, possibly Parkinson's parents, sat at the table, their faces tear-stained and worried.  
'What happened?' Harry demanded.  
Malfoy whirled to face him, the fear on his face morphing into rage the moment he sighted Harry. Parkinson moved forward, putting a restraining hand on Malfoy's arm.  
' _You_ ,' Malfoy snarled, hand dropping to his wand. 'This is _your_ fault.'

Harry stepped closer, heedless of Malfoy's drawn wand. 'What happened?' he said. 'Where's Scorpius? How long has he been gone?'  
At the mention of his son's name Malfoy sagged slightly, the edge of fear coming back into his face.  
'He's gone. Someone took him. At seven. Over two hours ago. They thought it was me -' he said, gesturing to Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson. Malfoy's mouth twisted into a hard line as he glared at Harry. 'But I was busy wasting everyone's time to satisfy _your_ fucking need for revenge.' 

The twist of regret and the feeling that he had made a bad mistake flared again. Harry was reminded for a moment of Sirius, all those years ago. He was reminded of his actions then, jumping headfirst into something based on his emotions - a reaction that had, ultimately, gotten his godfather killed. The idea that Scorpius could have been put in danger because of Harry speared through him like a sword, taking his breath. 

Harry tried to push away the fear that rose in him at this thought, instead fixing on Malfoy's words. This was a case. A job. If he thought of it like that he could solve it, like he had so many times before.  
'What do you mean you thought Malfoy picked Scorpius up?' he asked, turning to Parkinson's parents.  
'It was Draco,' the older woman said, anguish written across her face. 'He came home and said his meeting for the evening had been cancelled and he was going to take Scorpius out for dinner. He seemed just like he always did.' She looked at Draco with pleading eyes but he wasn't even watching her, as he returned to his pacing. Pansy murmured something to him, but Malfoy spat back at her, something that sounded like, 'Why did you even make me bring him here.'

Harry tried to ignore the words and the idea that Malfoy hadn't wanted to involve him, as his mind flicked through the options.  
'Polyjuice?' he asked, turning to Malfoy. Then louder. 'Malfoy, could someone be polyjuiced as you? Your metamorph abilities don't preclude that?'  
Malfoy's head jerked around and he seemed to consider that for a moment before he nodded his head once. 'If someone got a hair from me in this form, they could impersonate me in it.'

'Right,' Harry said. 'We'll work on that assumption. Now for the who and where.' He fixed Malfoy with his gaze. 'What's your gut telling you?'  
Malfoy shot Parkinson a venomous look and then glared at Harry. 'I didn't bring you here for questions about my fucking gut, Potter. That's not how this works. You're Head Auror. Find my son.'  
Harry bit down on his need to snap back, he could see that underneath the anger, Malfoy was getting more and more stressed the longer they stood there and he wasn't acting.

'Fine,' Harry said. 'The only threat you've had against him has been the photos from the Muggle Killings cases, yes?'  
Malfoy nodded and continued to pace.  
'And our only leads on that case are your father and his correspondent, who we don't have an ID for.'  
'All obvious statements, Potter,' Malfoy growled, clearly impatient.  
'So we start at the Manor,' Harry said. 'We pull the place apart if we need to.'

Malfoy turned to Harry, suddenly looking uncertain and strangely vulnerable. 'You think my father took him?'  
'Don't you?' Harry asked, looking Malfoy right in the eyes for the first time in weeks. Somehow in the face of the missing child, everything else sank into the background. No less real, no less important, but not what they needed to focus on now.  
Malfoy shook his head slowly. 'He wouldn't,' he murmured, then louder, 'he wouldn't,' almost as if he were trying to convince himself.

'We start there,' Harry said firmly. 'If we don't find him, we shake your father for the answers we need.' _Warrants be damned_ , he thought to himself. Harry knew if this went badly it would be his job on the line - and that the next time he faced the Wizengamot it might be with charges of his own to defend. But then he thought of Scorpius, seeing the boy's smile in his mind, remembering how it felt to sit beside him and read him to sleep. He looked at Draco in front of him, and thought the hurt written across his body right now rivalled that which lived inside Harry.

'Fine,' Malfoy said, seeming to deliberately gather himself, wrapping control around himself like armour. He stopped pacing and looked steadily at Harry. 'The only entry is through the front gates. The wards are keyed to allow me access and if you're with me, they should let you pass too.'  
Harry nodded.  
'We need to be outside the wards of the Estate to Apparate,' Malfoy said, wasting no more time, turning and running from the kitchen. Harry followed him, not sparing another moment for the stricken people behind him. He caught sight of Parkinson, moving across to her parents as he left the room.

They ran side by side down the driveway until they exited the gates and Malfoy Disapparated, Harry following him a moment later. He reappeared in front of the large wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor. Malfoy immediately strode forward but within three steps, the same warning glow Harry had experienced on his visit flared to life. An instant later Malfoy cried out in pain and stepped swiftly back.  
He turned to Harry, face furious. 'Is this your doing too?' he demanded.  
Harry shook his head. 'We haven't made any modifications to the …' He let his voice trail off as he remembered demanding someone lock the security down around Malfoy Manor so no one could get in or out. He felt that same sense of remorse twist within him at the thought that he may be directly responsible for what was happening now.

Malfoy saw the realisation in Harry's face and he took a step forward, voice low. 'I swear, Potter, if anything happens to my son because you -'  
Harry held up his hands to stop Malfoy, casting a Patronus and speaking quickly to the stag as it stood before him, head tossing impatiently.  
'Seek Susan Bones. Tell her to immediately locate the access stone for the Malfoy Manor wards and have it sent to the Manor gates. I also need two Auror teams. Credible suspicion of the abduction of Scorpius Malfoy. Probable location Malfoy Manor.'

The Patronus galloped away into the night and the two of them were left standing there in silence. Harry looked at Malfoy, who was staring through the bars at the Manor as though he could breach the wards through sheer willpower.  
Harry felt uncomfortable watching the intensity of the emotion on Malfoy's face. He took a step forward, then two more. The wards abruptly flared to life around him, sending a warning jolt of pain through his body.

Harry stepped back and behind him he heard Malfoy snort mirthlessly.  
'I know you're into pain, Potter, but these wards will strip you bloody in moments. They're made for death, not pleasure.'  
Harry turned to face Malfoy, surprised at the words. Surprised at the open acknowledgement, for the first time, of what had happened between them - what Malfoy had done with him.  
He opened his mouth, though he had no idea what he was going to say, but Malfoy held up a hand to stop him.  
'I can't do this now, Potter. I just can't. Scorpius -' He stopped speaking abruptly, staring through the gates of the Manor again.

Harry felt his heart go out to Malfoy. He was clearly struggling to hold himself together in the absence of his child. Part of Harry was pulled towards him, to comfort him. To say _something_ , at least.  
Before he could decide whether or not he wanted to act on that - what he _could_ say, after weeks of silence, Sue's badger Patronus ran through the air towards him.  
'Teams are on their way. Ward keystone is gone. No record of how long it's been missing or where it could be.'  
The badger disappeared into mist and Harry cursed at the words it had delivered. 

Malfoy rounded on him. 'What does she mean the keystone is gone? Is that the only way inside?' Malfoy advanced on him. 'Has your fucking Ministry locked my son up inside a fortress with my insane father and lost the key, Potter? That had better not be what you're telling me right now.' His voice got louder and louder as he approached and Harry could hear the panic behind it.

Harry looked at the Manor, shimmering slightly behind the wards. It loomed against the night sky, looking dark and forbidding - as though it had been twisted to a terrible purpose. Harry's mind raced as he tried to consider what he knew of the keystone, its purpose and the way the wards had been keyed to Lucius' blood - a prison cast just for him. He wished, suddenly, that Hermione was there. She'd been looking into the validity of home incarcerations post-war. He knew she'd been researching methods.

But then Harry's thoughts settled on a memory - an instant in time - and he felt himself calm. He realised he already knew what he had to do. After all, he'd seen it done before. The Hogwarts wards had fallen after the sustained efforts of an army of fighters. But they had fallen. This was no different. If he must carry so much power within him, there should at least be some good to come from it.

Harry closed his eyes, concentrating on feeling the depths of the force that lived within him. Instead of blocking it from his mind like he normally did, he tried to pull it forth, open himself to it, wrap himself in it.  
It was slow, at first, to respond to his deliberate call. Usually, he knew, he drew on his magic in an intense burst of need. This … this, he needed too, and he focussed on that feeling.

He felt the magic within him stir and rise, and he wrapped it around himself, casting shields and protections stronger than any he'd cast before. He wrapped layer upon layer of his magic around himself, and then he stepped forward.  
The wards flared red immediately, as though sensing the increased threat he posed, but Harry ignored them, just as he ignored Malfoy's voice at his back - angry, and then concerned. Instead, he cast a non-verbal charm at Malfoy, freezing him to the spot for just long enough that he wouldn't be able to rush into the middle of something that could get him killed. Harry didn't bother to question why he'd done it. His reasons for mistrusting Draco were fading further and further into his mind.

Harry stepped forward again and then again, the wards rippling and cracking around him as they resisted him, fighting against his presence. He felt pain shiver over his skin, but ignored it. His shields blocked the brunt of it, and he'd felt far worse.  
Harry took another step forward, raising his hands against the onslaught of power that was rushing towards him, as though all of the darkness in the wards was rushing to defend against the breach. Harry felt, suddenly, as though he was carrying the weight of the entire barrier on his shoulders as he forced himself closer to the gate.

The wards burned a bright crimson, flaring into the night, lighting up in a dome above the Manor, glowing into the dark sky. Harry took another step and there was the dull boom of percussion. Harry saw a crack splinter up the insubstantial barrier. He gritted his teeth and took another step, pushing himself closer, forcing the barrier to bend to his will. He could feel it battering at him, feel the dark magic twisted all through it reaching for him, as though desperate to fulfil its purpose. Harry's skin crawled, as though the barest tip of a blade was being dragged across it, desperate to cut into him - to flay him alive.

Harry pushed his hands out wider as he closed the distance to the gate. He saw more cracks splinter up the red glow of the wards and then he was at the wrought-iron barrier. He left one hand high in the air and pushed the other forward, shoving his will at the gates as he cast a Confringo at them. The gates smashed open, one breaking off its hinges and spinning into the darkness. The impact radiated out from the wards and Harry felt the pressure on him lessen immediately.

He didn't know the spell he wanted - didn't even know if what he wanted to do was possible, but he closed his eyes and focussed on creating a tunnel through the barrier he now stood inside. The last thing he wanted to do was to destroy the entire thing and let Lucius escape.  
Harry focussed on what he needed and he felt a pull, as though a great deal of energy had been sucked from him. He opened his eyes to see himself standing underneath a pale blue arch, shining as the red of the wards hissed and spat against it.  
He smiled slightly and turned to see half a dozen shocked faces staring at him with various degrees of awe.

The only person who wasn't stunned into stillness by what they'd seen was Malfoy. He pushed passed the Auror teams who had arrived, entering the glowing tunnel with no sign of hesitation. As he passed Harry, Malfoy glanced into his face, as though checking whether he was okay, but he hurried on a second later, jogging down the drive towards the Manor.  
Harry gave an impatient wave to the two teams standing outside the barrier, gesturing that two members should stand guard at the break in the wards and the rest should follow him, then he turned and ran after Malfoy.

'Malfoy,' he called, over the crunching run of their footsteps on the gravel drive. 'Malfoy.' Then, 'Damnit, Draco. _Wait_.'  
Draco spun on his heel, wand clenched in his fist.  
'What?' he hissed.  
Harry jogged the last few steps towards him and stopped, waiting a few seconds until the other Aurors caught up with him. Harry gestured at Draco.  
'This is Draco Malfoy. His son, Scorpius, may be inside this building, held against his will. He is five years old, about this high and blonde. He is not, in any circumstances, to be harmed in any way.'

Harry looked around the assembled faces, grim and ready. He received a series of nods and he turned to Draco.  
'Where is Scorpius likely to be held if he's inside?'  
Draco looked back at the building, as though wanting to sprint towards it, but he forced himself to settle.  
'The Manor is made up of four wings. The occupied rooms are in the east wing of the building on the first and second floor. The only occupants are my father and an aged house-elf. Scorpius -' Draco's voice wavered and he paused for a second, taking a breath. 

'Scorpius could be anywhere in the house. There are hunting lodges and greenhouses on the grounds as well. There are cellars and basements, attics. There are so many rooms. I have no idea where he could be.' Draco's voice faltered again and he stopped speaking, looking back at the house. Harry suddenly wanted to reach out - to offer him support, or comfort. It was getting harder and harder to remember why he shouldn't, why he was still angry in the face of Draco's anguish.

He didn't reach out. Instead he focussed on his job.  
'We'll stick to two teams of four. Archer, Jennings, you're with me and Draco. The rest of you stay as a quad. We'll search one wing at a time. We have to assume Lucius Malfoy knows we're here.' Harry glanced at Draco.  
'We can't assume he's alone. Someone stole the ward keystone for him and they could be inside. Use heat and life seeking spells as much as you can but search manually as well. This is a house that has had generations of magic imbued in it - it could give off all kinds of false readings.'

Harry looked around the assembled group, and hoped desperately that he'd be seeing them all at the end of it. 'Shields strong. Lucius Malfoy has a wand and is incredibly dangerous. There's every chance he's laid a number of nasty surprises inside the house. Questions?'  
The men and women around him were silent, each turning their gaze to the looming building as they considered the task ahead of them.  
'Right,' Harry said, casting a nonverbal Protego over himself. He watched for a moment as Draco and each of his Aurors did the same, then they set off, jogging forward.

They moved up the marble steps as one. Harry cast at the large double doors and they swung open soundlessly. Inside the Manor, the entrance was dimly lit and Harry cast a Lumos inside, revealing nothing but dulled marble. They filed in and then split into two teams, Harry, Draco, Archer and Jennings taking the staircase up to the left at Draco's gesture.  
'His drawing room is this way,' Draco muttered, wand held in a white-knuckled grip.  
They walked quickly, Archer and Jennings casting seeking spells before them, opening the door to each room they passed and checking swiftly inside.

They were halfway to the room Harry remembered interrogating Malfoy in when they heard the boom of an explosion in the distance. It was strong enough to shake the house around them. Harry spun immediately towards the sound, cursing as he saw Draco move the opposite direction, a light at the end of the corridor flickering into existence and then disappearing just as quickly.  
Harry looked back in the direction the impact had come from and then gestured to Jennings to go check it out. 'If there are casualties, evacuate to Mungo's. You'll need to be back outside the wards to Apparate. And send word to Auror Bones. Get more teams here immediately.' Jennings nodded and ran back down the way she had come.

Harry turned and hurried after Draco, who was pushing open the door to his father's drawing room and looking around wildly. There was no one inside and the light had disappeared. Harry saw Draco growl in frustration and lift his wand. He realised a moment too late just what Draco was planning as he pointed the tip at his own throat, his voice booming out a moment later.  
'I WILL NOT PLAY THIS GAME, FATHER. RETURN SCORPIUS IMMEDIATELY OR I WILL PULL THIS DAMNED TOMB DOWN AROUND YOUR HEAD AS I TAKE HIM FROM YOU.'

Draco lowered his wand, not sparing Harry a glance as he pushed past him and back into the corridor, hurrying on down the Hall. He seemed to be moving with single-minded purpose, not pausing to check the rooms. Harry gestured to Archer to continue her checks, though it slowed her down and meant she was hanging back further and further. Harry looked back at her and then saw Draco cry out and sprint forward.  
Harry cursed and followed, skidding sideways as he rounded a corner and almost fell down a set of stairs. Draco was taking them three at a time as he ran after something Harry couldn't make out, hazy in the distance.

What he could see turned him cold with terror. Draco was two steps from the base of the stairs, heedless of a dark-robed man concealed in the shadows. Harry caught a glimpse of a wand already raised, a mouth already moving as green light shot towards Draco, catching him mid-leap and sending him crashing to the ground, boneless and still as he skidded across the floor.

Harry watched Draco take the death curse. Shocked realisation crashed over him with sickening force. He saw Draco hit the floor, and he screamed out his rage and pain as he cast his own Avada a second later, never meaning it more than he had in that exact moment. A short, dark-haired figure fell to the ground, but Harry had already forgotten him as he jumped down the stairs, crashing to the ground and rolling as he scrambled to Draco's side.

Harry grabbed Draco by the shoulders, pulling him onto his back and looking into his still, slack-jawed face.  
'No,' he muttered, feeling desperately at Draco's neck for a pulse - for any sign of life. 'No, no, no,' he muttered, hands moving frantically over Draco's body, trying to find anything to tell him that what he feared wasn't true.  
'Draco,' he said, shaking him, cupping his face. 'Draco, _wake up_. Fuck. _FUCK_ ,' Harry screamed.  
He looked down at the man in his arms. 'You're not dead,' he said, his voice was pleading now, as he held Draco to him. 'You can't be dead.' 

He looked down into Draco's empty grey eyes and a hundred memories assaulted him - a thousand. Good and bad. A life entwined with the man in his arms. 'You can't fucking do this,' Harry said, furiously, his voice thick with anguish. He could feel something inside him begin to break apart, the careful barriers he'd wrapped around his emotions, his mind, his very self. Harry could feel himself start to unravel as he remembered his own stubbornness, his anger and he cursed at how he'd wasted the last few weeks - wasted _years_.

Harry's magic crackled in the air around him, sensing his pain. Sensing his anger. He didn't try to rein it in. He would tear this fucking house down around Lucius Malfoy's head. He hated this place. It was seeped in death and pain. A flicker of memory passed through his mind. Draco's eyes meeting his, all those years ago. The look of recognition in them as he was forced in front of Harry, forced to inspect him, forced to condemn him. And instead, Draco had saved him. Harry felt more of his magic pulled from him, searching the building, hunting for life. Hunting for vengance. He kept that image of Draco in his mind, and wished, just for a moment, that he could go back to that time. Do things differently. Take Draco with them.

Harry pulled his head back up, reining in his scrambled thoughts as something thumped hard in his chest. _Time_. He needed more _time_. Harry pulled Draco closer to himself, wrapping his arms about Draco's still form and holding him tight. He felt his magic rushing back towards him, eager to do his will.  
Harry bent forward, focussing only on Draco, on the weight of his body, the unnatural stillness where there was usually so much life, the memory of him and all the things he stirred inside Harry. He focussed on the things that were now so wrong in the world - so wrong inside him.

Harry focussed on the faint smell of lemons as he reached deep inside himself. He didn't try to coax the power forth this time, he just reached inside and ripped it out. He laid himself bare before his anguish and rage and regret and he let his magic surge over those wounds like a wave, reading in every line of his being what he wanted and needed from it.

Harry called his magic forth as an unstoppable force, heedless of the cost as he bent it to his will. He held Draco against himself as he reached in front of him with one hand and _twisted_ , pulling and bending, changing the very fabric of the reality around him. He used himself as an anchor - embedded himself in the flow of time instinctively, pulling the power of the last few minutes around himself, absorbing it. Reversing it. 

Harry clutched Draco's still form tightly as he forced the world to do his will. 

\-----

Draco drew in air with a sucking gasp, every line of his body tense with panic and fear. The flash of green light hovered at the edges of his memory, the realisation that it was his own death he was seeing filled his mind.

It took him a long moment to hear the voice calling his name, feel the hands on his body.  
He blinked and looked up to see Harry's face, just inches from his own, his eyes a bright emerald green, the life in them the exact opposite of the death curse he had witnessed - witnessed? It had hit him, hadn't it? Draco remembered the split second of impact, that feeling of severing, of being pulled away.

He looked up at Harry again, felt a warm palm cupping his face, let his vision expand slightly to see the blood dripping from Harry's nose, the exhaustion written across every line of his face.  
The words filtered through his consciousness slowly. He didn't even know if Harry was aware he was saying them.  
'- I thought I'd lost you. I was so scared. Draco, I'm so sorry. I can't lose -'

Draco held up a hand, feeling his command of his body returning slowly, clumsily.  
'What happened?' he rasped.  
Harry's voice cut off at his words and a little more awareness returned to his face as he focussed in on Draco.  
'You were cursed,' Harry said, his thumb rubbing lightly over Draco's cheek, almost unconsciously. The sensation made Draco aware of his entire body - aware that he was lying down, sprawled across Harry's lap.

With a groan of effort, he pushed himself up, until he was sitting, facing Harry.  
'No more lies,' Draco said, voice rough, looking Harry in the eyes, and knowing he meant so much more than what he was about to say. 'What happened?'  
Harry hesitated for just a moment, his eyes darting sideways to where a black-robed form lay bound and unmoving on the stone floor.  
'You were hit with the killing curse,' Harry said softly, returning his eyes to Draco's face. He hesitated a moment longer, but then took a deep breath. 'You died.'

Draco felt the words rock through him like a punch, despite the fact that a part of him had been prepared to hear them. He'd died. He'd been dead.  
'You brought me back to life?' he asked, already knowing what the answer must be.  
Harry nodded, 'I couldn't - you couldn't die.' He seemed as though he wanted to say more, but he struggled for the words, a desperate, fierce strength filling his face.  
Draco was reminded abruptly of watching Harry play Quidditch, compete in the Tournament, duel. That strength was what really made Harry Potter the Chosen One - that thing inside him that knew what he wanted in life and fought until he got it, or until he died. Something in Draco yearned towards that vitality in Harry, basked in the idea of it being directed at him - Harry wanting _him_ in that way.

Draco reached out slowly, sure that something had fundamentally shifted between them, sure that he couldn't turn away from this again. He ran his thumb lightly across the blood smeared under Harry's nose, wiping it away, before cupping his cheek lightly.  
'Always saving my life, Potter,' he said quietly, chest thumping as Harry leaned into his touch, his eyes drifting slightly closed.

An explosion of sound from somewhere in the mansion jerked them apart, Draco reaching for his wand and Harry moving into a crouch.  
Draco cursed himself for forgetting even for a moment where they were and what was happening. He had to find Scorpius. What ever this was - whatever had happened - was happening, it could wait. Scorpius was first.

Harry moved over to the crumpled form Draco remembered seeing on his awakening, and he pulled the man roughly to his back, throwing an Envenerate at his face. The dark-haired man gasped and woke, twisting immediately in his bonds before realising he was trapped. He immediately relaxed, leering up at Harry, who was kneeling beside him.  
'Avery,' Draco said, recognition hitting him.  
Harry nodded, looking down at the man. 'Rudolph Avery. You were right about this too.'

Draco stared at him, realising he must have been the one to throw the killing curse. Avery had _killed_ him. The concept still seemed to big to encompass.  
'How did -' Draco began, but Harry shook his head, and Draco subsided.  
'Where is Scorpius Malfoy?' Harry said instead.  
Avery smiled up at them. It was not a pleasant smile. 'You move very fast, Auror Potter. I thought I had him. I thought I'd taken out the last obstacle.'  
Harry put out his hand and Avery lifted into the air, slamming back against the wall and dangling there, feet inches from the ground.

'What is Draco an obstacle to?' Harry asked, his voice cold and hard as he climbed to his feet, standing inches from Avery's dangling form.  
'To the inheritance,' Avery said, as though it were obvious. 'To the true order. To the replacement of what was and what should be. To the glory days that will come again.'  
Harry clenched his fist slightly and Avery's words cut off, seemingly as his air cut off.  
'You have no idea how lucky you are to be alive,' Harry said, voice dark. 'I'll ask again. If you don't tell me, I will kill you.' There was no hesitation in Harry's voice, and Draco felt a hint of surprise at his certainty. He hadn’t thought Potter had it in him, though something deep within Draco felt pleased, that Harry would defend his son - fight for his son.  
'Where is Scorpius?' Harry demanded again.

Avery cocked his head, looking beyond Harry to Draco, face mocking. 'He's in a safe place. He's in the place the heir should be. Where the proper heir should have been.' Avery's face turned sneering, but Draco suddenly knew - and cursed himself for not realising it earlier.  
He reached forward and grabbed Harry's arm. 'Come on,' he said urgently. 'I know where he is.'  
Harry glared into Avery's face a moment longer. Then he clenched his fist again and Avery slumped, losing consciousness. Harry let him slide to the ground with a thump, then he cast a Patronus, informing his team of Avery's location. There was another explosion, this one closer, the Manor shaking around them. They must be traps, Draco thought, laid throughout the building. Avery must have set them.

Draco was off before Harry had finished his Patronus, reversing his trip up the stairs and sprinting down familiar halls, Harry at his heels.  
It only took him a minute to locate the familiar door - the room he hadn't entered in thirteen years. He halted before it, hand raised, hesitating at the spectre of the memories that lived within. It was eerily silent in the corridor now, as though the whole house was waiting for him to open the door in front of him. Draco thought of his beautiful, bright, innocent son and he stepped forward.  
Harry's hand on his arm pulled Draco back a pace. He shot a glare at Harry. He was so close to Scorpius. He could feel it. But Harry flicked a complicated series of gestures at the door, making the runes in them glow a bright blue. Harry frowned and pushed Draco back a pace at the flare of light.

'It's not a trap,' Draco said, stepping forward. 'They're for protection. This is my room.'  
Draco ignored the look of surprise on Harry's face and shoved the door open, wand held out before him.

The moment Draco stepped into his childhood bedroom, the darkness of the house receded behind him, the sounds of the house crashing and protesting at the violence done within it disappeared. His room had always been the best protected - the most sheltered.  
He saw both the blond heads at the same time, Scorpius tucked up in Draco's old bed, the coverlet still Slytherin green, still exactly as he'd left it. The room was lit by warm lamps, creating a homely atmosphere of an old man watching his grandson sleep.

Draco felt terror spear through him at the sight before him. He ignored his father, perched at the bedside, and ran to his son. He pulled the covers back and scooped Scorpius into his arms, pulling the boy tight against his body as he backed away from the bed - away from his father and back towards Harry. Harry reached out a hand, placing it lightly against Draco's lower back, as though offering the comfort of his presence but also letting Draco know he could lead this - could take it where he needed.

Lucius didn't move in response to Draco's entry, merely watched them, a coolly amused look on his face.  
Draco pulled Scorpius back from his chest, worried that the boy wasn't moving, hadn't responded to his touch. Scorpius' face was pink and his body was warm, relaxed.  
'He's sleeping, Draco,' Lucius said. 'Just a bit of Dreamless Sleep. You used to need it, you remember, when you had the night terrors?'  
Draco stared at his father, incredulous, holding Scorpius back against himself protectively. He revelled in the warm, heavy weight in his arms, the smell of Scorpius' hair. Draco thought about the fact that he had almost lost his son and he felt fury rise within him and he gripped his wand, pointing it at Lucius.

'Are you fucking kidding me?' he demanded, voice cold with rage. 'You just kidnapped my son and you want to reminisce about old times?'  
Draco took a step forward, feeling his anger grow. Knowing what he needed to do.  
'I am going to do what I should have done years ago, _father_ ,' he said, injecting every shred of anger and hatred and rejection he had ever felt into his tone. 'I am going to tear this fucking house down around you.' Draco took another step, holding Scorpius tight, knowing his magic would protect the boy. 'I am going to _bury_ you in it.'  
Draco could feel his magic rising within him, crackling around the room, shattering two of the lights with a loud crack. He could feel it meet the wave of force that was emanating from Harry, even now. 

Draco felt his power caress the edge of Harry's, felt his anger rise higher at the touch of it, stoked by the burning emotion bleeding from every part of Harry.  
Draco levelled his wand and prepared to cast.

Lucius looked down his nose at Draco. 'You always were such a dramatic boy,' he said, a faint mockery in his voice reminding Draco of so many moments his father had cut him down with just a well-placed word. 'You should know I would never hurt my heir.'  
Draco halted, stunned by the casual confidence in his father's tone as he looked death in the eye. Somehow, his father's assumption that Draco would not act against him, like he had not acted against his father so many hundreds of times during his life put Draco right back into that place where he had no power. No control.

'Technically I didn't kidnap him at all,' Lucius continued. 'Avery did that all by himself. I can see the merit, I suppose, force the Aurors to come inside and to drop the wards, so I can leave at last, but the methods,' Lucius clucked his tongue in disapproval.  
'The methods leave so much to be desired. I would never have condoned putting the boy in harm's way.' He stared Draco down with cold eyes, so like his own.  
'When you put them in harm's way, they end up _damaged_. Isn't that right, Draco?'

Draco grit his teeth in the face of his father's casual slight, trying not to let it worm its way inside him. He was not damaged. He had remade himself. Healed himself. Draco felt, rather than saw, Harry step forward, his presence somehow calming, giving Draco the strength he needed to stand before his father.  
'That's the problem with the youth,' Lucius continued in his cold drawl. 'Easy to control at first, easy to mould, like you were, Draco, in the beginning. But Avery got more and more unwieldy as time went on.' Lucius gave a humourless laugh, 'Also like you were.'

'Were you behind it?' Harry asked. 'The attacks, the killings?' His voice radiating restrained power as he spoke from his position behind Draco.  
Draco watched his father, some fragment of him wanting it not to be true, despite all of the evidence.  
Lucius spread his hands, 'I don't suppose it will make much difference at this point for me to say I wasn't.'

Draco felt a sick bitterness twist through him. 'How could you - Scorpius was in those photos. He was a _target_.'  
Lucius cocked his head to one side. 'A target? No, Draco, never a target. He was photographed, yes, but he was on a safe list. As were you. _You_ lost him,' Lucius' lip curled in the hint of a sneer and Draco felt his anger flare back to life again at his father's next words. 'He is my heir and _I_ kept him safe. As soon as Avery arrived with him, I brought him here, where he would be safe.'  
Lucius' flat gaze turned to Scorpius, sleeping soundly in Draco's arms and Draco clutched him tighter, turning away, trying to shield the boy from his grandfather's covetous gaze.

Draco shook his head, distinctly remembering the pictures, the fear at seeing his son pinpointed in the gaze of that camera lens, but behind him, Harry made a sound of acknowledgement, as though something had just clicked into place. 'We always wondered why there were two separate packets of photos, the large group and the small,' he murmured.  
Draco didn't bother to try and understand it. He latched onto his father's false assurances that he would be safe. If not for Harry, he would be dead. _Twice over_ , a voice in his mind whispered.  
'You almost killed me at New Years, anyway,' Draco growled, glaring at his father, pushing for a reaction - pushing for some sign that Lucius was remorseful for his actions, of what he'd engineered.

Lucius frowned. 'Avery, again. That was when I started to realise he may not be as … stable as I'd hoped. He was to procure a small device, localised damage, low risk of fatality. The idea was fear - fear and anti-Muggle sentiment. Instead, what does he do? Stupid boy builds a faulty Muggle device large enough to level the building.' Lucius shuddered at the words and Draco felt a faint hope that his father had some remorse in him for those deaths at least.  
'Can you imagine what it would have done to the bloodlines, to have so many purebloods of prime breeding age killed in one action?'  
Draco felt the faint hope turn to ashes within him as he realised that his father had not, and would never, change.

'Yes, many of them are impure, intermingling with Muggles and half-bloods, intermarrying in some cases, but that does not preclude strategic redirection,' Lucius continued.  
That was it. Draco had had enough. He couldn't stand to hear another word out of the monster in front of him - the monster he had once thought the world of. It made him feel sick to look at the twisted evil that his father had become.  
Draco stepped forward to cut him off, to make the hateful words stop, but Harry's touch at his back stopped him and Draco realised abruptly that Harry was recording the whole thing. He could see the glow of the charm in the corner of the room, out of his father's line of sight.

He swallowed, readjusted Scorpius' sleeping form in his arms. He let Scorpius' gentle breath him ground him and steady him as he forced himself to continue prodding, continue to unveil the layers of rot that lived inside his father's soul.  
Lucius Malfoy deserved Azkaban - deserved worse - and if Draco could do anything to send him there, he would do it gladly.  
'Why the Muggles?' he asked instead.  
Lucius leaned forward. 'They're dangerous. They outnumber us a hundred thousand to one. They have science and technology, moving far faster than we realised. I have read of it. They have these 'bombs' that can do more damage than any of our curses. They are dangerous to all of us. It is imperative that wizardkind recognises this danger and acts on it.'

Lucius' face was taking on a fanatical gleam as he spoke, becoming more and more animated. 'It was only a matter of time before they attacked us. I needed to show people the trap they were falling into - the trap of complacency. We must act before it is too late, before they are too powerful for us to stop. Muggles must be put back into their place. They are less than us, less in every way except their numbers. I had to act, Draco. For the future. For my grandson. He is the heir. His future must be assured.'

Lucius made to stand, reaching out towards Scorpius. Draco took a swift step backwards. Harry stepped forward in his place, his presence filling the room as he reached out. Bindings wrapped around Lucius' wrists and ankles, sending him stumbling to his knees.  
Harry's voice rang out, hard and final.  
'Lucius Malfoy, you are under arrest for the murder of David Bright, Jacob Summers and Cordelia Avery. A number of other charges will be brought against you. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be brought against you in trial.'

Harry gestured again and a thick gag wrapped around Lucius' head, blocking the words he tried to speak next.  
Harry stepped closer to Lucius, leaning down and lowering his voice, but Draco heard every word. He felt Harry's tone of menacing certainty fill him, calming him further.  
'You will never harm Draco or Scorpius again. You will never _see_ them again. Your life as you know it is over. I will make sure, if it's the last thing I do, that you never have contact with the outside world again. We will forget you. We will forget you and your poison, as though you'd never been.'

With that, Harry turned, sending another Patronus ahead first, the stag galloping away with orders to collect Lucius and clear the building.

Harry turned to Draco, and Draco was concerned to see the fatigue suddenly etched across every line of Harry's body. He realised, abruptly just what Harry had done tonight. Both breaking through the wards and bringing him back - he'd been _dead_ and Harry had brought him back to life. Neither things were something even the most powerful wizard could achieve.

Harry swayed slightly on his feet and Draco felt his heart lurch at the sudden uncertainty on Harry's face as their eyes met. 

In the end, there was no choice at all. Draco shifted Scorpius to one side and held out his hand, leaving it hanging in the air, an echo of the many times they'd tried to form this bond between them. 

Harry's eyes held a depth of emotion as he reached out to clasp Draco's hand in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Powerful!Harry is one of my most favourite things. I am very sorry for Draco's small time away from us there.
> 
> So much happened and so much was wrapped up. I would love to know anything and everything you thought about it.
> 
> You all continue to blow me away with your kindness and support. I can't even explain how much it means to know you're reading <3


	18. Chapter 18

He woke to the smell. The sharp, over-clean smell of the hospital. Harry groaned, forcing his eyes open and struggling to sit up before his consciousness had even caught up with him.  
_Draco_. The last thing he remembered was Apparating with Draco and Scorpius to St Mungo's. Then he'd- 

'Harry!'  
He turned his head to see Hermione's face, tired and worried, though she leaned forward with a smile when he met her eyes. Harry reached up to return her embrace, his arms feeling slow and heavy.  
''s Draco?' he murmured, trying to snag the departing wisps of thought he'd had upon waking.  
'He's with Scorpius,' Hermione said immediately. 'He said if you woke to tell you he'd be back as soon as he could.'

Hermione glanced up behind him and Harry followed her eyes, twisting his head slowly to see a glowing blue phoenix sitting at the end of his bed. When he looked at it, it cocked its head to one side, considering him. Harry recognised it as the form that had swept into his living room at Grimmauld Place - earlier that night? The day before? Harry shook his head slightly, wincing as it sent pain thumping through him.  
He looked back at the phoenix. Harry could feel Draco's magic woven through the Patronus, reaching out to soothe him, to watch over him, and he lay back in the bed, letting its light play over his skin in the dimly lit room.  
'Scorp okay?' he asked next, closing his eyes for a moment and allowing the tiredness to wash over him. His whole body ached - even his throat felt raw. He remembered screaming Draco's name and closed his eyes a moment as the pain of the memory hit him.

'He's fine,' Hermione said softly. 'I checked on him just before. They want to keep him in for observation, but they haven't found anything in his system beyond the standard Dreamless.'  
She reached out, laying a hand on his arm. 'You should try to rest. Based on the last time you depleted your magic, the Healers weren't expecting you to wake until late today.'  
'Time's it?' Harry asked.  
'It's five in the morning,' Hermione replied. 'You collapsed in admissions three hours ago.'  
'Team?' Harry asked, ignoring the comment about his collapse, and the tingle of fear that thought sent through him. He shouldn't be able to do the things he was doing. He could feel the toll of it building, waiting to be paid.  
'They're okay,' Hermione said. 'Sue dropped by as well, not long after you were admitted. Four here in Mungo's, but nothing that can't be healed.'

Harry nodded, relieved, and forced his eyes open again. Hermione was watching him, the look on her face concerned but also knowing.  
'It happened again,' he said quietly.  
Hermione nodded, expression unchanged. 'You turned time?'  
Harry bent his head in agreement. 'I - Draco died,' he said, voice suddenly hoarse as he remembered the agony - the ripping emptiness of that moment after the green light had flashed. He could feel the echo of that fear run through him again and he tried to push it away. Draco was okay. He'd made it right.

Beside him, Hermione drew in a sharp breath.  
'You brought him back.' It was a statement, not a question.  
Harry shrugged uncomfortably. 'I don't know. I …' He paused, trying to figure out how to explain how it felt, channelling that ocean of power, how it felt as natural as breathing to bend it to his will. It scared him how easy it felt.  
'I think I made it so he never died,' Harry said, at last. 

Hermione looked more troubled at this admission, but she didn't press him further.  
'You're healing from it more quickly, this time,' she said instead.  
'I broke the wards at the Manor,' Harry replied in a response that wasn't a response. He remembered the feeling of forcing that barrier to open to him, of buffering all the darkness - the blood magic that was keeping Lucius a prisoner in his own home. In the end it had been easy. In the end Harry only had to think of what he needed and it was done. He shivered slightly and Hermione caught the motion.

'Draco told me a bit of what happened last night,' she said, watching him with dark eyes. 'What you did to save his son.'  
Harry didn't say anything, just watched her in return.  
'What's happening, Harry?' Hermione asked him. And Harry knew she didn't just mean his powers. She meant all of it. Him. The things he could do. His … whatever it was with Draco. His life. His drinking. His sadness. His divorce. His job. Gods, probably even the fact that he'd never felt so free as in the moments where there was a lash against his skin.

Harry looked at one of his best friends - the person who knew him better than almost anyone … then he glanced up again at the Patronus watching silently over him, and he remembered the last few weeks.

Pain. Betrayal. Anger. Lashing out. His petty crusade against Draco, which had put Scorpius at risk. He remembered the emptiness and agonising loss at the thought that Draco might be gone. Harry thought of the drop after doing a scene, of how good it felt to come home to Draco, of the freedom of someone knowing the darkest parts of him and not flinching away. He thought of what he may have already lost through his own actions.  
He had saved Draco … but before that, he'd put everything Draco loved at risk. And he didn't know if he could guarantee that he wouldn't do it again.

'I think I need help,' Harry said at last, meeting Hermione's eyes in the dimness of the hospital room.

\-----

The Healers had been in twice, and Ron had come to swap with Hermione before the phoenix above Harry's head abruptly took flight. It dissolved into a silvery mist just as Draco stepped into the room, Scorpius held in his arms.  
Harry jerked his head up, taking in every detail of Draco's form. He was still wearing the black trousers and navy shirt he'd had on the night before, though it looked like he'd cast cleaning charms on himself. The grime from their fight through the Manor was gone, but Draco looked exhausted when he met Harry's eyes, shifting a still-drowsy Scorpius into a more comfortable position. Harry felt something in him relax, to see that Draco was okay - that they both were.

'Hi,' Harry said softly, his voice alerting Ron to Draco's presence. Ron looked up from the paper he'd been reading Quidditch scores out loud from, and his eyes narrowed when he saw Draco standing in the doorway. Ron gritted his teeth and stood, clearly ready to tell Draco where he could go. Harry hadn't yet filled Ron in on what had changed. Hadn't wanted to try to unpack and explain thoughts he didn't yet understand.  
'Ron,' Harry said, glad when Ron turned towards him. 'Can you give us a minute?'  
Ron looked at him, and Harry knew he was thinking about how Harry had reacted to the news of Draco's double identity - what it had done to him to know Draco had lied.

Harry nodded, trying to inject certainty into his expression. The lies were only one part of what was between them. There was so much more. Layers and layers of it. _Years_.  
Ron shifted his gaze to Draco again and sighed.  
'Fine,' he said. 'I'll go get us some of those pastries from Marples. The hospital food is rubbish. I'll be back in twenty minutes.' The last comment was very clearly directed at Draco, who merely nodded, his eyes returning to Harry's a moment later.

Harry pushed himself up in bed as Ron walked past Draco and out of the room. He let the blankets drop to his waist and tried to ignore how weak his body still felt.  
'Hi,' he said again, reaching out a hand, and hoping Draco would take it.  
Draco stepped closer, but he didn’t take Harry's hand. Instead he sat in the chair Ron had just vacated, shifting Scorpius so he sat comfortably, head still tucked into Draco's neck.

Harry let his hand drop to the bed.  
'Is he okay?' he asked instead, looking at Scorpius' small form, cradled protectively against Draco's body.  
Draco nodded, looking down at Scorpius for a moment and swallowing before he spoke.  
'He's fine,' Draco said, a hint of his anxiety from the night before in his voice. 'We got him out before either of them had time to hurt him.'  
Harry nodded in relief, the last of the worry about the boy leaving him.

'How are you?' Draco asked, and Harry could hear that same tension in his voice, as though Draco was holding himself back from saying more.  
'Sore,' Harry answered honestly. 'Tired.' He paused for a moment, thinking about the things he wanted to change in his life, things he hadn’t wanted to say to anyone else. 'Scared,' he said after a moment, 'of what happened last night.'  
Draco nodded, bending his face to Scorpius' hair, as though reminding himself that he was here, with his son.

'I'm sorry,' Harry said, dragging his eyes away from the child, needing Draco to hear the regret layered through him. 'For the part I played in making that happen.'  
Draco's grey eyes considered Harry for a long moment, as though measuring him.  
Finally he nodded. 'We're all still alive.' The unspoken words were still there - _though your decisions played a part in what happened to Scorpius._ There was a haunted shadow in Draco's eyes and Harry knew Draco was also remembering the fact that he almost hadn't lived through what happened.  
Harry let those words flow into him, absorbing the impact. He'd reacted badly. He'd tried to suppress his pain, as he always did, and things had gone wrong - Draco had _died_ , in part because Harry hadn't known how to deal with what he'd found out.

'Thank you, though,' Draco said. 'For what you did - for all of it. I couldn't have saved him without you.' Draco paused, and took a deep breath. 'I'm sorry too. For lying to you.' Draco looked as though he wanted to say more, but he merely rubbed a hand up Scorpius' back.  
Harry looked at Draco, feeling the formality in his words, wondering where they stood, after all that had happened - after they had been forced back into each other's lives.

He felt like there was a chasm between them, one standing on each side, and in the middle a lifetime of reasons not to broach it. The easy certainty of the night before as they'd stood united in bringing Lucius down was gone, leaving this stiff distance. Harry wasn't sure how to cross it, wasn't sure whether Draco wanted him to.

'What now?' Harry asked, aware the words were totally inadequate.  
'What do you want now?' Draco asked in return, voice quiet. Harry considered him for a long moment, seeing the tension in his face, the hint of something in his eyes. Draco's stance screamed withdrawal and distance. His shoulders were hunched, his arms wrapped protectively around Scorpius, his eyes an unfathomable grey.  
Harry looked at him and realised the decision was simple - no matter what was between them, or because of it, he wanted Draco. A surge of fierce possessiveness rose up in him at the thought that this might be gone, that the fragments of the future he'd started to imagine might be taken from him.

The look on Draco's face as he watched Harry was the same as the one he'd worn right before he'd cast Crucio in the bathroom, all those years ago. Harry had watched Draco for too many years not to know the masks he wore, the distance and formality he retreated into when he was scared.  
Harry remembered his words to Hermione. _I need help_.  
It wasn't just his magic he needed help with. If he wanted Draco, wanted both of them, to be his, he had to make sure he could keep them safe.  
'I want -' he began, then paused, trying to figure out how to phrase the thoughts that had been swirling inside his head since he'd woken up.  
'I want to start again,' he said at last. 

The only hint of Draco's surprise was a slight widening of his eyes.  
'Start what again?' he asked carefully.  
'Everything,' Harry said. 'You. Me. The Club. Working together. Everything. I want to start over.'  
Draco shook his head slowly. 'It's not as easy as that. We've both done things - '  
Harry tried to interrupt but Draco held up a hand. 'I lied to you and abused your trust in the worst way,' Draco said, continuing to speak quietly but firmly, as he rubbed comforting circles on Scorpius' back. 'And you cut me out of your life completely, and then had me arrested and interrogated without cause.'

Harry watched Draco, fear stabbing through him at the thought that Draco really believed there was no chance for their future.  
'We hurt each other, Harry,' Draco said, his face reflecting that pain. 'We always have.'  
Harry shook his head, the feeling desperation rising in him making the action sharp. 'It's not just that, though,' he said, leaning forward, and reaching for Draco's hand. Draco glanced towards his movement and his fingers twitched, but he didn't reach for Harry.  
Harry felt his heart thump in his chest as anxiety started to spiral in him. He couldn't lose Draco now, not after everything.  
'It's not,' Harry insisted, a note of pleading in his voice as he saw Draco's face shutter. 'There could be so much _good_ between us.'

Draco hesitated, a naked longing flashing across his face so quickly that Harry almost missed it. It was just enough to let him calm his spiralling thoughts and watch as Draco gathered Scorpius in his arms and stood. Harry could see the exact moment Draco put on his cloak of pride and training and made the right choice, instead of the one he wanted.  
'I can't just think of myself,' Draco said, his voice tinged with a regret he couldn't quite hide. 'I can’t expose my son to something that might not last. It's not fair to him.'

Harry wanted to tell Draco to wait, to tell him it would work between them - he knew it would. He wanted to pull Draco to himself and make him _see_. But then he thought about his conversation earlier with Hermione and he bit his tongue.  
'Can I owl you?' he asked instead, not willing to let Draco leave without the hope of some form of contact.  
Draco hesitated a moment longer, clearly torn, and then he nodded. He stood beside the bed, for a moment, looking as though he wanted to say something more. Harry watched him, wondering if Draco would reconsider.

'Please look after yourself,' Draco said instead, reaching out for the briefest instant to push a strand of hair back from Harry's brow. Harry barely had time to feel the touch before it was gone.

\----

Harry could feel his nerves simmering as he approached the nondescript brick building. His glamour was in place - the way his magic had been surging inside him lately, he doubted he'd ever cast a stronger one - and he knew it was unlikely anyone would expect him to be visiting this type of establishment in Kidlington, of all places.  
He'd been owling Jayne over the last few days, each response getting him closer and closer to knowing that this was something he needed to do. Hermione had helped as well, reminding him how much she and Ron had both benefited from this, directly after the war.

Harry took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It opened automatically and he stepped into a small entryway. A woman was walking down the hall towards him, a smile on her face. She was about his height and looked to be in her mid-forties, her hair an auburn bob.  
'Welcome, Harry,' she said, reaching out her hand as she approached him. 'I'm Jayne Turner. Thank you for coming.'  
Harry let his glamour fade away, the magic feeling reluctant, as though it wanted to be used. It had been feeling more and more temperamental lately. Harry tried to ignore the creeping worry at what that might mean as he reached out to shake her hand, noting her firm grip and the genuine warmth in her eyes, which didn't fade or change when she saw his face. 

'Come this way,' she said, gesturing down the hall.  
Harry followed her, smoothing his hands down over his shirt and trying not to feel like he was in school and headed for a detention.  
Jayne led him into a sitting room, gesturing him to a chair and then sitting opposite him. A tea set was laid out on a table between them, wisps of steam rising from the pot.  
She gestured for him to help himself, but Harry shook his head. If he reached for a cup of tea, he'd have to show her how badly his hands were shaking.

'I know this is a big step for you,' Jayne said. 'I want to start by reinforcing some of the things we've discussed by owl the last few days, so we have no misunderstandings.' She paused to check his reaction and Harry nodded for her to go on, feeling the nerves spark in him again. He felt that same curl of uncertainty that had been dogging him for days, ever since he'd decided this was something he needed to do. He felt his magic tingle across his skin in response to his agitation. He had a sudden, horrifying image of his magic bursting forth and pulling the room to pieces. 

Harry gritted his teeth and forced his focus back towards the woman opposite him. She was still speaking and he wondered what he'd missed.  
'Everything we discuss will be completely confidential,' Jayne said. 'The form we both signed binds me to that.' Harry nodded, reassured again to hear that. He pushed his magic down, forced thoughts of it away, as he focussed on more pressing problems. His face across the news for his divorce was messy enough. He didn't want the fact that he was seeing a Mind Healer to be a part of that circus.

'Some of our discussions might be difficult, but we can take this at any pace you're comfortable with. You are the guide here, Harry.'  
Harry frowned at those words. He wondered how he was supposed to be the guide when he had no idea what he was doing. A part of him wanted to be able to walk in and lay everything at the Healer's feet. Give her his pain and his fucked up past and let her take it away - make it better. Harry wondered for the hundredth time if he could do this. He'd never been good at talking to people about things like this. He'd never known how.

 _And that is why you're almost thirty, divorcing your wife and falling in love with a man who you considered your enemy for years_ , some dry, inner voice, which sounded suspiciously like Draco's, whispered to him. Harry cracked a smile despite himself, and took a deep breath.  
'Where do we start?' he asked, sick of the waiting. Just wanting to get it done.

Jayne smiled. 'As we discussed by owl, my practice focuses more on changing coping strategies than revisiting the past. So while we will certainly discuss your past, and important experiences that have shaped or changed you, we will be looking more into the future together - into understanding how you respond to challenges now, and why you respond that way.'  
Harry nodded again, feeling a little confidence return to him with those words. He could do this. There were things - so many things - he had learned to do that he knew were unhealthy. He pushed people away. He shut them out. He still felt like it was his job to save everyone.

He was sick of it. Sick of feeling like he had to protect himself from everyone around him, had to put himself and what he wanted last.  
Harry reached for the teapot and poured himself a cup of tea, then he kicked his boots off and curled his feet under himself in the chair.  
'I'm ready,' he said, in a voice that only shook a little.

\-----

Jayne had told him, after their second session, that keeping a journal might be a useful way for him to reflect on his days and his thoughts between sessions, to look for patterns and to be deliberate about his choices.  
When he thought about a journal, all Harry could think of was Riddle's diary, taking in his words and spinning them into lies. Instead, he wrote letters. It seemed simpler, somehow, putting his thoughts on a page, when he could picture the face associated with the message he was giving.

He wrote to Hermione first, giving her the details of his therapy. Her reflections on his thoughts and experiences helped to spur him into deeper connections, and to an understanding of himself that he didn't think he'd ever had. 

He wrote to Ron, starting up a series of 'remember when's' that often had him laughing into the quietness of the garden, or startling the customers at a coffee shop. It helped, to remember the laughter and fun, alongside the terror and pain.

He wrote to Molly, apologising for his absence and letting her know a little of what was going on. He promised to come for tea that weekend.

He wrote to Susan Bones, explaining more about his leave of absence, apologising for the way he'd pulled rank out of pride and hurt. He told her he trusted her implicitly to act in his absence. The letter he got back was simple and soothed something inside him. _It's okay to be human, Harry._

It was a few weeks before Harry wrote to Draco. He'd had thought of Draco daily since the last time he'd seen him - since he'd watched Draco walk out of his hospital room. But he hadn't quite managed to get the confidence up to contact him. What was between them seemed too fragile for that. It felt like the wrong word or the wrong action could snap that bond between them, could sever it again, for good this time.  
It wasn't until he'd started to speak to Jayne about Draco that he'd seen the fear he was wrapping himself up in.

'You can't put your life on hold, Harry. Leave from work is a good idea, but you'll have to face that again soon. Taking some space from being around your friends and family can be healthy too, but you're already re-establishing and strengthening those connections. You're already seeing that you draw strength and support from others. If this is a connection you want in your life, you need to pursue it to make it happen.'

Harry had gone home from that session, picked up his quill and gone straight to what was fast becoming his favorite letter-writing place in the garden, where the April sunlight was filtered through the leaves of the large oak that grew over half the yard.

_Dear Draco,_  
_The last few weeks have been interesting. I'm trying something I never have before. Talking to people. I know, I can hear you laughing from here. Anyway, I'd like to try talking to you, if you want?_

_I feel like most of our lives we haven't talked. We've just rushed straight into things. Fighting. Competing. Fucking._

_I meant what I said in the hospital. I want to start again. I want to talk to you. Get to know you. And I want you to know me. Not all that Chosen bullshit. The real me._

_So anyway, if you want to, here goes. I'm on leave at the moment. I requested it. They wanted to give me a medal and make a big deal out of what happened at the Manor. I don't need another medal. I don't want the ones I've got._

_Auror Bones will be keeping you updated on your father's case, I'm sure. His trial is set for next month. I'm booked to testify in the morning. You're later in the day. So if you don't want to see me, you won't have to. I hope you do. Want to see me, that is._  
_I miss you._

_Anyway, happier things. I'm working on a motorbike. It's Sirius'. He was your uncle? Cousin? I've never understood how that family tree stuff worked. I just have my aunt on my mum's side and no one on my dad's. I don't know much at all about what his family was like, actually._

_Anyway, the bike. It's beautiful. It doesn't go, yet, but I've been reading Muggle books about it and I think what I'm doing is working. I need to renew the charms on it, to make sure it still flies when I'm done. Can you imagine, cruising through the sky on a machine like that?'_

_I hope you're well. I hope Scorpius is too. I think about you a lot._  
_Harry_

He tried not to think too much about it, as he tied the letter to the leg of one of the Ministry owls he was borrowing. Draco would respond, or he wouldn't. That was his choice to make. Harry watched the owl fly away, and thought of the box of memories, sitting untouched on the dresser in his room. He'd collected them the day after he'd checked out of St Mungo's and gone in to tell Javier he was taking leave. He still hadn't opened the box. He wasn't sure what was stopping him from doing it, but something about looking at them didn't seem right.

Harry tried not to focus on the fact that by the time he'd gone to bed, there had been no owl from Draco in return. When he woke the next morning, he had to stop himself from watching the window, looking for the tap of a beak.

He was out in the garage late that afternoon when a large eagle owl swooped in. Harry smiled to see that Draco still used the birds he'd loved so much in school. Harry had thought it was pretentious then. Now he thought it suited Draco. The bird was powerful. Dangerous. Harry hadn't been able to stop his thoughts from straying back to the club on occasion, and from trying to reconcile Ladon and Draco in his mind - from the idea that he could have those same things with Draco … 

Harry wiped greasy fingers on his jeans and reached for the letter the owl was holding out, pleased to see it waiting for a reply.

_Harry,_  
_A motorcycle? Really? Did your magical depletion permanently damage your brain? Do you truly need danger in your life so much that you need to fiddle with a great big Muggle contraption, in the Muggle way, and then send it into the sky?_

Harry snorted, imagining Draco throwing his hands up in the air and rolling his eyes.

_Scorpius is fine. He's mostly forgotten the Manor, just thinks of it as a strange visit with his strange grandfather. It's probably a blessing in some ways that he slept through most of what happened. He asks after you, sometimes._

_Thank you, for having the statement issued clearing me. Thanks as well, I guess, for getting divorced so that my arrest wasn't front page news. Things have been … not great since my father was arrested. Again. I'm getting the same glares as I used too, not long after the war. I took Scorpius away for a few weeks, I think it helped both of us. To be away for a bit. And to think._

_Draco_  
_P.S. Just how fast does that motorcycle go? Faster than a broom?_

 

_I miss you too._

\-----

Harry picked up one of the small pouches of sugar and flicked it between his fingers as he checked the door again. He was early. He'd wanted to arrive before Draco - to have time to prepare himself before seeing him again. He'd been talking with Jayne about the importance of understanding moments that were likely to trigger strong emotions in him, and preparing himself for them, centering himself before experiencing them so he could try to direct his emotions rather than being overwhelmed by them and shutting them out.

Right now his emotions were anxiety and excitement. Anxiety that Draco wouldn't actually show up, despite his assurance that he wanted to meet as well. His excitement over seeing Draco after five weeks of writing back and forth, exchanging letters almost daily now, bubbled through him.  
Harry ran his fingers over the case of memories he'd brought with him, wondering how Draco would react to their return.

When Harry heard the bell to the coffeeshop door ring he jerked his head up to see Draco walk in, his grey eyes fixing on Harry almost immediately.  
Harry drank in the sight of him. Draco looked _good_. He was wearing dark grey jeans and chunky boots. He'd pushed the sleeves up on his long-sleeved, navy v-neck, and Harry felt something in him glow at the fact that Draco wasn't hiding his mark anymore.

Harry stood as Draco approached, reaching out a hand, suddenly needing to touch him, even in this small way. Draco looked at him with one eyebrow raised slightly and a smile hovering on his lips, but then he reached out to clasp Harry's hand. Harry breathed in as he felt that same tingle across his skin as his magic rushed forth to meet Draco's, almost purring under the contact. He didn't even try to stop it, knowing he wouldn't be able to.  
Draco's hand tightened around Harry's for a moment and Harry's heartbeat skipped as he looked up to see Draco's eyes were suddenly darker - heated. 

Harry let go reluctantly and gestured to the seat opposite him as he took his own again.  
'It's good to see you,' he said, hearing a hint of huskiness in his own voice.  
Draco's smile deepened and he let his eyes flick over Harry briefly, that same heat in his gaze. 'You too,' he murmured, then rubbed one hand over the other, as though running his fingers over the touch of Harry's magic.

Then Draco's eyes caught on the box of memories and he stilled, looking at it.  
'You never mentioned you'd watched them,' he said quietly.  
Harry ran his hands over the box slowly, protectively, as he had done so many times before, in the quiet of his room, tempted by what it contained.  
'I haven't,' he said, sliding the box towards Draco.  
Draco made no move to reach for it, staring at it for a moment before looking up at Harry in confusion.  
The question was clear on his face.

Harry shrugged. 'I was angry, to start with. And then everything was happening and I didn't have time to sit and sort out how I felt about you. And then after ...' He shrugged again. 'You don't owe me anything.' Harry looked at Draco, wanting to make sure he understood. 'I read your letter. You don't owe me those memories. I might not have known I was telling _you_ those things. But I knew I was telling someone. I made the choice to share that information about myself.'  
Harry nudged the box closer to Draco. 'If you want to tell me about all the memories inside that box one day, I'll listen, but I don't need to watch them to know how I feel about you.'

Draco's eyes dropped to the box and he stared at it for a long moment before reaching out to slide it towards himself.  
'Thank you,' he said softly, looking across at Harry.  
Harry smiled at him and Draco seemed to shake himself slightly, before making a deliberate effort to change the subject.  
'Your magic felt stronger when I touched you. It's still sparking? Has Hermione found anything more yet?' Draco asked, referring to Harry's explanations of Hermione's investigations into Harry's magic and what it was doing to him to draw on it, in the way he had.

Harry shook his head and then flicked his fingers, casting a Muffliato. Immediately the noise of the coffee shop was drowned out. He'd accidentally silenced a whole block the other week. Harry didn't miss the way Draco bit the edge of his lip as his eyes followed Harry's movement, and he thought about casting something else, just to keep that heat in Draco's gaze. His magic pushed at him, tingling through his fingertips, almost begging to be used.  
'She's looking into ways of suppressing it, mainly,' Harry said, tamping down the desire to let the excess power bleed from him into spells he didn't need. Draco's eyebrows raised and Harry flushed slightly.  
'I told her about the collar,' Harry said. 'And how it cuts off the magic. She wants to talk to you about it - where you got it from, how it works, that sort of thing.'

Draco's eyes dropped to Harry's throat and Harry wondered if he was thinking about the collar - how Harry had looked wearing it, the things they'd done while he'd had it on. In all their letters back and forth, they hadn't discussed this. They'd stuck to safer topics, talking about their pasts - different recollections of the same things. Their relationships with others - Draco's with his son and with Astoria. They'd talked of his love for her and his devastation at losing her - what it had done to Scorpius to be without her. 

They'd also talked, in a roundabout way, of whether Draco thought he might be able to have a life with someone else, sometime in the future. Harry's eyes flicked down to Draco's hands, clasped in front of him, the faint tapping of one thumb the only thing betraying his nervousness.  
Harry felt something flicker to life in his chest when he realised Draco wasn't wearing the gold band he always wore, even as Ladon.  
Harry rubbed his thumb over his own absent wedding band, and tried not to hope. So far their letters had been those of friends. Friends with a past, but friends.

Draco cleared his throat, bringing his eyes back up to meet Harry's. 'That's fine. I'll send her an owl. I brought that collar in France, when I realised I wanted to open my own club. They're rare things. Not many wizards need them, once you've taken away their wands.'  
Unspoken memories lay between them, of Harry offering himself and his magic up to Ladon - to Draco - to collar. To own.

Suddenly Harry wanted to know the things he and Draco had been skirting all these weeks. He needed to understand what had led Draco to do what he had - the things that had caused the weight that still sat inside Harry's chest when he thought about Draco.  
Jayne had told him he needed to address that soon - that trust was at the heart of many of the things he struggled with; trust that people would stay in his life; trust that they loved him for himself, not for what he could give them; trust that people were being honest with him. He needed to know - after everything - he needed to know if he could trust Draco.

'Why did you start it?' he asked. 'BDSM?'  
Draco's expression was surprised for a moment and he glanced away, as though gathering himself, looking around the half-empty coffeeshop. The waitress caught his eye and assumed he'd been looking for her. She came over and Harry let the silencing charm go, watching Draco as he busied himself ordering, wondering if he would dodge the question - wondering if he didn't want to share that part of himself with Harry … wondering what it would mean for them if he didn't.  
But when she was gone, Draco looked back at Harry. 

'I didn't imagine telling you in a place quite like this,' he said, gesturing around them with a small smile. 'But I suppose now is as good a time as any.'  
Harry felt warmth flow through him at Draco's casual assumption that he was planning to tell Harry about this part of his life, and it had only been a matter of timing and circumstance that had stopped him.

'I didn't even know what BDSM was until I left England after the war,' Draco said and Harry leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. 'I had a friend, a witch - Elise - and she was always making fun of me - how uptight I was. How on edge. I was a mess after the war,' Draco said, looking beyond Harry, as though reliving his memories. His face clouded and Harry wondered if Draco still had nightmares too, the way he did sometimes.  
'Anyway, Elise took me to a club one night. For a laugh, something to get me to unwind. Instead … I went back again and again. I used to watch them - the Doms. They were so in control. That's why I did it at first. To have control again. Over someone else … but over myself, mostly.'

Harry watched Draco speaking softly, face pensive. 'It changed, over time. I realised it wasn't just about control for me - that was what I'd wanted my whole life; power and control, and all it did was almost destroy me. Instead,' he looked at Harry, and there was regret and pain in his eyes. 'Instead I realised what I wanted was trust and safety and the chance to create a space where we could both let go.'

Harry felt an ache in his chest as he thought about how much he'd trusted Ladon, and how he never would have let himself show the same level of vulnerability to Draco. But if he'd never met Ladon, he likely wouldn't have unbent enough to even begin his tentative friendship with Draco.  
'But why the deception?' he asked, needing to make it clear - to untie the snarl of misunderstandings that still stood between them. 'Why didn't you start the club and do it as yourself?'

Draco snorted, an edge of bitterness to his voice. 'Really, Potter?' he said, raising one eyebrow, the hint of a smirk on his lips. '"It", as you so eloquently put it, is deviant behaviour, in the wizarding world as well as the Muggle one. Admit it, you thought so the first time you walked in the door.'  
Harry didn't say anything but he flushed slightly. Draco nodded and went on. 'You couple that with my ... past,' his hand came down to rub lightly, almost unconsciously, over his forearm. 'And you get a one way ticket to Azkaban and headlines like "Former Death Eater Found Torturing Muggles in Sex Club."'

Harry opened his mouth to protest and then closed it. After a few moments he spoke, quietly. 'But it's not about torture. It's consensual. It's about ... release.'  
'Yes,' Draco said, and the word hung between them. 'It is.'

'A sub trusts their Dom,' Draco continued, speaking softly, watching Harry, 'not to go too far, to stop once a safe word is spoken. There’s so much power in that, but it's all based on trust.' Draco stopped and Harry wondered if he was remembering their last scene together, when Harry had become lost in the darkness of his memories. He felt that same echo of shame at his reaction, but it was soft now. He'd talked through so much with Jayne. Come to terms with so much of his childhood, and the ways that it had shaped him that he'd never understood.

'Do you know, I've never been trusted before?' Draco said, and Harry focussed back on him. 'Ever. Not by anyone that wasn’t family, and even then -' Draco snorted softly, 'being trusted by my family isn’t all that great of an endorsement. But the people I do scenes with - they trust me. Implicitly. Without doubt. They trust me to know what they need and to give it to them. And I can do that.' Draco's eyes were full of emotion as he looked at Harry, his voice almost pleading. 'I'm so good at that.' 

Harry remembered again and again moments when Draco had demonstrated that - when he had read Harry, his needs, his past, his desires, and delivered exactly what he required. He could remember Draco's touch on his skin, the absolution he offered, the easy way in which he stepped in and took control. When he made it so that Harry didn't have to be the one with that weight on his shoulders, at least not for a little while.

Draco sighed. 'Trust is such a delicate thing. Do you know the first person I trusted in years? Back in school?'  
Harry shook his head and Draco smiled sadly. 'It was you.' His shoulder lifted in a half shrug. 'I couldn't trust my father to keep us safe any more. I never trusted Dumbledore to help me. I couldn't trust my mother to protect me. I couldn't even trust myself not to make the wrong choices,' he said bitterly, running his hand over the mark inked onto his arm.

'But you … I saw you in the Manor that night, after all that time on the run. You were _still_ fighting, even though the Dark Lord had all but won. And then you escaped again, and -' Draco fixed Harry with an intense gaze. 'Suddenly I knew. Harry Potter was going to win the war.' Draco looked away and his next words were so soft Harry almost didn't catch them. 'Sometimes I think that was the only reason I kept going.'

Harry stared at Draco, shocked by his words.  
He opened his mouth, not knowing what to say in response, but was interrupted by the waitress bringing their order. She placed a pot of tea and a piece of treacle tart in front of Harry and a coffee and a square of lemon cake in front of Draco.  
'Saved by the tea,' Draco said, as she walked away.

Harry shook his head, bringing a spoonful of his tart to his mouth. He chewed slowly, trying to sift through his swirling emotions - to see what was important, and what was just the old patterns of his emotional reaction. A part of him wanted to accuse Draco of lying - if trust was so important to him, why had he lied to Harry all those months? Another part knew if he went on the offensive now, he would just drive Draco away.  
'Why did you do the scene with me?' he asked instead. 'That first time.' 

Draco brought his coffee up to his mouth, taking a sip and looking down as he placed it back on the table.  
'I've watched you for years,' he said, glancing up to meet Harry's eyes, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks.  
'Not just at school. In the papers. At the Ministry functions. You looked … incomplete. Not miserable, but not happy either. You looked like you were trying to fit into this perfect Chosen life that everyone expected of you.' Draco shrugged and Harry considered that, thinking back to how he had felt six months earlier, before he had met Ladon and things had started to unspool. 

Harry looked at Draco and thought about trust, about the things he had been talking through with Jayne. He thought about that part of himself that didn't trust anyone else. About the way he'd wondered whether part of the reason he'd married Ginny was that he didn’t trust that the Weasleys would still consider him one of them unless he became a part of their family.  
He thought about how he'd felt after the war and how he didn’t trust the wizarding world to give him any type of peace. He'd wondered if that was the reason he'd become an Auror, even though dealing with trauma and pain on a daily basis was the last thing he needed. 

Harry thought about what Draco had said about Ministry events, and he wondered, for the first time, if the reason he'd forced himself to attend them again and again was that he didn’t trust people to understand that he needed space to unpack, to heal, to _breathe_. So he went to event after event despite how claustrophobic and hollow it made him feel. He'd thought no one had noticed. Harry looked at Draco, who was sitting quietly, watching him, giving him the space he needed to process his thoughts.

'Why did you do that first scene with me?' he asked again, quietly.  
Draco didn't hesitate before speaking this time. 'You needed it. I couldn't deny you something that you needed for yourself - for no one else. I wanted to see you _live_ again, not just survive.' He shrugged slightly, a self-deprecating smile curving across his lips. 'Besides, I've always been a bit gone on you, Harry, even when I didn't recognise it for what it was. I can't imagine a scenario where I would have been strong enough to deny you what you wanted.'

Harry stared at Draco, the words rocking through him, not just the declaration of Draco's feelings, but the way he had captured exactly how Harry had felt at that time. He hadn't been living. He hadn't trusted himself to live, because why should he get to live the life he wanted to when so many others had died for him? 

'Thank you,' he said at last, voice hoarse. He thought about what Jayne had encouraged him to do - be explicit with his emotions and explaining them to others. 'Thank you for helping me understand myself and for pushing me to change. I … I wouldn't be in this place today - I wouldn't even know I needed to be here, if it wasn't for you.'  
Draco closed his eyes at Harry's words and let out a shuddering breath. When he opened them again, they shone with a film of tears he didn't allow to fall.

'I am _so_ sorry for what I did to you, Harry,' Draco said, the truth of his words etched into every part of him. 'I never wanted to hurt you. I was selfish and I thought we could both have what we needed.' He paused, reaching out across the table, laying his hand palm up. 'I can't promise I won't be a prat or be too sharp sometimes or push you away when I don't mean to … But I can promise never to lie to you again. I can promise that if you want to be in that space with me again, you can trust me in it.'

Harry thought about what he wanted and what he needed and what he hoped he could have with Draco.  
'If I'm in, I'm all in,' he said. 'It's not just about the scene.'  
Draco laughed softly. 'I've been all in for months.'  
Harry smiled and reached out to twine their fingers together, letting the rightness of the movement fill him as Draco's magic moved across his skin.

\------

Harry went home feeling lighter and more free than he had in months. The way things were changing seemed almost too good to be true. He kept waiting for something to come and take it all away again. He was writing to Jayne later that night, unpacking some of those thoughts as he sat down to dinner - a proper, home-cooked dinner, like he'd promised Jayne, even though cooking for one still felt strange - when the owl arrived at his window.  
Harry let the familiar creature in, feeding him a treat from the jar he'd taken to keeping beside the window. Then he took the package off the owl's leg, eyes widening as he unrolled the sheets of paper.

He looked at Draco's note first.

 _Only if you want_.  
_D_

Then he returned his gaze to the lists in front of him, spreading them out on the table. He read through the now-familiar words, heat curling in his chest as he thought of how he might fill in the forms anew … knowing it was Draco he was completing them for.  
Harry moved his fingers down the page, splashes of green, yellow and red following their path as he thought about all of the things he wanted Draco Malfoy to do to him. There was far more green and yellow than last time. He had more experience with what he wanted, for one, but there was also something about the fact that he was thinking specifically about Draco that made him want to much more.

He wanted to Apparate to the club and hand the forms to Draco himself. To ask him to take what he wanted. But then he thought of his discussions with Jayne, thought about all the times he'd rushed into things, thought about the lessons Ladon had taught him, about waiting. Instead he tied the forms back to the owl's leg, adding a scribbled note.

 _I want_.  
_H_

Their letters the next few days returned to normal. Talking about friends - Pansy's latest conquest, Hermione's current law review, how Teddy was doing at school this year. But underneath it all there was a simmering tension, an understanding that this thing between them was drawing closer - would not be denied much longer.

Harry wrote to Jayne, checking in with her, wanting to make sure that this was the right choice to make. Her return owl was clear. 

_Harry, your choices are your own. They are not right or wrong. If you can see this path bringing you happiness, I wish you joy in it. If you want to come see me, I will look forward to that as well._

Harry Apparated to the familiar street corner, anticipation and desire coiling in him. He'd taken the time to shave and dress in clothes he knew looked good on him. A part of him felt nervous, as though he were going on a date. But that was ridiculous. He'd known Draco most of his life. They've been telling each other stories about every part of their pasts and their hopes for the future for weeks. They'd saved each other's lives. They'd fucked. Still he ran sweaty palms down the legs of his jeans before he stepped up to the entrance to Release.

The door swung open before him and Harry was struck by how familiar everything looked, how unchanged. He felt as though he'd lived a lifetime since he'd last walked in this door. Dahlia looked up from behind her position at the main entrance, and her eyes widened in momentary surprise.  
'Hello, pet,' she said as he came closer. 'I didn't think we'd be seeing you again. Sam's been such a bore since you left. He's barely played with anyone.'  
Harry felt a curl of satisfaction and possessiveness at those words - at the thought that Draco hadn't been with other people. Harry knew it wasn't the same, that he was the only one Draco had had sex with, but even the thought of it - of Draco fulfilling other people's needs instead of his, or Draco singing for other people as he held them close - made something simmer angrily in Harry's chest. He felt his magic stir in him, rumbling to life, and he breathed deeply, pushing it back down.

Dahlia seemed to catch the flash of emotion, because she chuckled in a low voice. 'You two are as bad as each other,' she murmured, as she hit a button that Harry knew connected to the back office.  
It was less than a minute before Ladon's familiar figure stepped through the door. Draco's step faltered slightly as he saw Harry standing by the desk. Harry let his eyes wander up and down the man's body, taking in his features, examining them, noting similarities and differences. Ladon even held himself differently than Draco - more confident, somehow, as though the anonymity of a new face allowed him to leave the insecurities and doubts of his old one behind.

It was strange, to see this man standing before him, to know he had a whole other life, but to also know he was Draco.  
'Harry,' Draco said. Ladon's voice sent a shiver through Harry.  
'Sir,' he replied, the hint of a smile on his face at seeing Draco's eyes darken in instant arousal, knowing Harry was addressing him in that way.  
Harry heard a soft huff from Dahlia but didn't spare her a glance, his whole attention fixed on Draco.

Draco watched him for a moment longer, then gestured inside, leading Harry through the public room.  
'Dahlia isn't Pansy, is she?' Harry asked as they walked, thinking about the similarities between the two women.  
Ladon's blue eyes met Harry's and Draco gave a mock shudder. 'Gods no, can you imagine? She's basically the Muggle equivalent, though. Possibly more dangerous than the original.'  
Harry laughed softly, and then they were through the space and Draco was directing Harry into the blue room, the one with the bar and the tables. The first one he'd ever entered. It was empty.

Draco gestured him to a seat. Harry shook his head and Draco raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips as though he wanted to say something. Harry wondered what it would be like to submit to Draco - to have rules and expectations and to be punished when he stepped outside them. The look on Ladon's face was commanding, and Harry shivered again, anticipation putting him on edge.  
'Why are you here?' Draco asked.  
'I sent you the forms back,' Harry said. 'Days ago.' Draco nodded, but didn't say anything.

Harry swallowed, knowing that what he was about to say would change everything between them again. Knowing he would say it anyway.  
'I want to do it. The ropes.'  
Draco swallowed heavily, desire blooming across his face. 'Are you sure?'  
Harry nodded. 'I want to try again. With … with you this time.'  
Draco hissed a sharp breath. He reached one hand out as though to touch Harry, but he dropped it, almost as though forcing himself not to. 

'Not here,' Draco said, staring intensely into Harry's eyes. 'Will you come to my house?'  
The unspoken _Do you trust me?_ hung between them. There were so many years, so many reasons for Harry to refuse. Being tied up, without his magic, at Draco Malfoy's house, when no one knew where he was going to be … it would have been madness, even a few weeks ago.  
'Yes,' Harry whispered. An answer to both questions. 

Ladon - Draco - cast a Patronus, sending it to Pansy's parents, telling them he wouldn't be collecting Scorpius until morning. Then he reached out. There was a crack and a sickening lurch, and they were standing somewhere altogether different. Harry looked around the familiar space of Draco's living room. Draco turned and flicked his wand and the lights brightened, the fire flaring back to life. Harry's gaze was caught by the strange hesitancy on Ladon's face and he took a step closer.

Draco held up a hand, and as Harry watched, the colour faded from it and Ladon's olive skin gave way to Draco's paleness. Harry's eyes went to Ladon's face, watching as the black faded from his hair at the same time as it re-shaped, shortening into Draco's familiar sharp cut. He watched in amazement as Ladon's face narrowed, his features becoming more pointed. Finally Draco closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the ice blue of Ladon's gaze was gone and it was Draco's quicksilver eyes looking back at him.

Harry took a step closer, reaching up to trace his fingers lightly down Draco's cheek, over the familiar features.  
'I like this face better,' he said softly.  
Draco smiled slightly, a quirk of his lips, then he brought his hand up, tracing his own fingers down Harry's face, over the lines of his scar as it spiderwebbed down his cheek.  
'I've always liked this face,' Draco said, and then he leaned in, pressing his lips against Harry's.

Harry breathed in and cupped Draco's cheek, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as he tilted his head. Draco answered him immediately, his other hand moving to Harry's back, pulling them flush against each other. Harry moaned lightly at the sensation - at Draco's body against his, mouth against his. After so long, for this to be happening … it felt familiar and at the same time, so new, as if this was the first time. And it was, in some ways. It was the first time he'd known he was kissing Draco - had wanted Draco to be the one in his arms.

Draco nipped lightly at his lip, seeking entry, and Harry opened his mouth, groaning again at the feeling of Draco's tongue twining with his. It was sweet and slow and full of promise. Harry dropped his hands to Draco's shirt, pulling at the waistline, wanting his hands on skin.  
He could feel Draco smile into the kiss, then he stepped back, just as Harry managed to get his shirt untucked.  
Harry stared at him, breath coming more quickly, and Draco smiled. It held a hint of a playful cruelty that spiked something in Harry.

'I have no objection at all to sex,' Draco said, voice slightly husky. 'Just so we're clear. Apart from that one time with you, the only sex I've ever had has been vanilla, and I'm perfectly happy with that.'  
Harry looked at him, surprised by the admission. But then he remembered Ladon telling him he wasn't generally attracted to people sexually, and that the feeling could be very overwhelming.  
'But you wanted ropes, when you came here,' Draco said, drawing Harry's attention back, taking another step away from Harry's reaching arms. 'So it's your decision whether you want to do this as a scene.'

Harry stopped at his words, trying to get his growing arousal under control enough to think. A part of him wanted to fall onto the couch with Draco and ride him until they both came, and then to do it all over again. Another part of him wanted - very badly - for Draco to take control, and to pull Harry to pieces.  
He swallowed, forcing himself to relax, forcing himself to breathe slowly.  
'I'd like the ropes,' he said softly. 'Please, sir.'  
Something in Draco's body changed at those words, becoming harder, more intent. Harry shivered to see it.

'Go to my bedroom,' Draco said, his voice calm, but unquestioningly in control. 'I need to get a few things organised. When I come in, I want you kneeling, naked, in the middle of the floor.'  
Harry's breath caught and he felt himself harden fully in an instant at the command in Draco's tone, at the idea of doing that for him. He turned from the room, making his way down the corridor. He stepped into the room at the end, on the right, noting that it was just as tastefully decorated as he'd thought all those months ago when he'd gotten a peek at it. The room was done in soft blues and greys, and Draco's bed was a four-poster. 

Harry's body thrummed with a nervous tension as he took his clothes off, folding them neatly and sitting them on a chair. He took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair, glancing at the open door. He could do this. He wanted to do this. It was no different than Ladon and the club.  
Except it was. Everything was different. This was Draco. They were at his house. This was somehow far more intimate and real.

Harry moved to the centre of the room and knelt down on the plush carpet. He closed his eyes and focussed on his breathing, trying to centre himself. But he couldn't seem to relax, couldn't seem to find the sense of peace, of calm and release that came so naturally to him under Ladon's hands. Despite knowing that Draco had seen him this way before, there was a part of him that wanted to cover his arousal - his nakedness - that was afraid to be so vulnerable.

Harry looked up as a scuff of carpet indicated Draco was entering the room. He had Harry's collar held in one hand and a coil of rope in the other, and the look on his face was hot and full of wanting. His eyes raked over Harry's body as though he owned it … until he reached Harry's face, and their eyes met, and suddenly Harry could see a hint of uncertainty. He realised that this was new for Draco too - this was the first time he had done this with Harry knowing him, and wanting him, for himself.  
Somehow that thought didn't set Harry at ease. It made him wonder again if this was the right choice. He wanted Draco to know what to do - to lead.

Draco took a step closer and looked down at Harry. Sleek black cord hung loosely from his hand. He cocked an eyebrow, as though able to sense Harry's disquiet. The ghost of a smirk crossed his mouth and all the uncertainty was suddenly gone.  
'Scared, Potter?' Draco asked, eyes dark and intense.  
Just like that, Harry felt his tension break. This was Malfoy - who had pushed Harry's buttons better than anyone throughout his school days. This was Ladon - who knew exactly what Harry needed ... this was Draco - who, one way or another, had entwined his life with Harry's since they were eleven years old. 

'You wish,' he said, and he closed his eyes.  
Harry let himself relax totally into his role, giving himself up to the man in front of him.  
He heard, more than felt, Draco kneel in front of him, then a soft hand traced over his face.  
'Eyes open,' Draco said. 'No blindfold for this.' His lips quirked into a smile. 'I don't have to hide from you anymore.'  
Harry felt his interest spike at those words, but he knew now was not the time to discuss them.

Draco held the collar up in front of Harry.  
'I want to put this on you,' he said, and Harry looked down at it, really looked at it, for the first time. It was a simple band of leather, only a finger-width thick. Harry thought about the ocean of power that roiled inside him. He thought about the fact that he could change the fabric of reality itself as he looked at the collar Draco held in his hands.  
Draco waited, watching him, and Harry knew he too, was considering what he was asking.

'I'm the Master of Death,' Harry said abruptly, the words leaving him before he'd had time to think about them. But the moment he said it, looking Draco in the eyes, he knew it was right. He'd told Draco he didn't want secrets between them - he couldn't keep this one.  
Draco's hands dropped slightly as he stared at Harry in shock. He half shook his head. 'That's a myth,' he said, voice soft.  
Harry shook his head. 'It's not. The Hallows are real.' Harry brought a hand up, to touch his bare chest.  
'This power I have. It's because Voldemort lived in me for so long, but it's also because of that. Because I died. Because I'm the master of Death's tools,' Harry said, feeling the magic within him surge up as he focussed on it, pushing its way to his fingertips, demanding to be used.

Draco shivered slightly as Harry's magic flowed over him, his breathing coming faster as he stared at Harry. He didn't move or speak and Harry was afraid that he'd gone too far - had finally told Draco the thing that would drive him away. 

Then Draco leaned forward, pressing his lips to Harry's as he brought his hands up, wrapping the collar around Harry's neck. They kissed slowly, Draco fully dressed and Harry naked before him. Draco's fingers tightened the clasp and then the power was gone, the buzzing weight of it removed from him. Harry felt his entire body relax as the pervasive presence disappeared. He hadn’t realised how intense it had become since the last time he'd been without it. He let out a sigh into Draco's mouth and Draco leaned back on his heels, looking at Harry.

'Better?' he asked.  
'Much,' Harry breathed.  
'Good,' Draco smiled. 'When we're done, we're going to discuss what you just told me.' He rolled his eyes, 'And we're going to set some rules about what does and doesn't belong in a scene.'  
He paused, looking at Harry, and his eyes still held some of the wonder at what Harry had just told him.  
But then he seemed to shake himself as he reached for the rope at his side.  
'But for now, I'm going to give you what you need.'

Harry nodded, his swirling thoughts becoming clearer. Draco knew everything now. He knew, and he hadn't turned away. Harry felt a swell of emotion rising in his chest. He thought of Jayne's advice. Analyse it. Understand it. He knew what this emotion was. He just didn't know if he was ready to say it out loud.

'I'm going to tie you differently than last time,' Draco said, focussed on the task at hand, interrupting Harry's thoughts. 'You'll be able to see and breathe and I'll tell you what I'm doing. I need you to tell me at any point if you're uncomfortable or going to a bad place.' Draco looked at him with serious eyes. 'Can you do that, Harry?'  
'Yes, sir,' he said, feeling the collar against his throat as he spoke.

'Good boy,' Draco said, stroking lightly down the side of Harry's face. Harry shuddered and closed his eyes slightly, leaning into the sensation. Those words coming from Draco's lips were hypnotising. Harry felt his body responding, felt himself stirring and growing hard again.  
'I'm going to bind your chest first,' Draco said, pushing to his feet and unspooling the rope, measuring it out. 'Then down your arms, and across your thighs. Your movement won't be restricted, but you will feel the ropes dig into your skin. If anything starts to tingle or you lose sensation, you need to tell me immediately, okay?'

Harry nodded, eyes on the rope. Draco reached down and pulled Harry to his feet, laying the rope over his right shoulder and diagonally down to his left hip. It felt cool and smooth against his skin and Harry shivered slightly.  
'Hold your arms out,' Draco said, and Harry complied, feeling the rope wrap around his back and across his ribs, looping in a knot around the one down his body and pulling tight. Draco worked smoothly and swiftly, creating a lattice of ropes across Harry's chest, tying the knots and drawing the ropes around him. His fingers were everywhere, his touch smoothing over Harry's skin, caressing him as he worked.

When he was done, he looked at Harry, 'Colour?'  
'Green,' Harry breathed, feeling the embrace of the ropes around him and feeling secure in it. He felt safe.  
'Perfect,' Draco said, leaning in to kiss him again. It went on a second. Two. Lips and then tongue entwining. Harry moaned into Draco's mouth and then Draco pulled away, picking up the end of the rope and beginning to wrap it around Harry's right bicep, wrapping it in loops a few finger-widths apart, each one tied with its own knot, working their way progressively down his arm. When his arm was wrapped to the wrist in circles of rope, Draco moved to Harry's left side and started again. 

Harry could feel his focus narrowing to the touch of the rope against his skin, the movement of Draco's hands on his body as he positioned Harry how he needed him.  
Then Draco stepped back, dropping to his knees and Harry was suddenly, painfully aware of his own arousal. He'd lost track of the sensation, had pushed it into the background as a lesser concern, but now Draco was on his knees in front of Harry and he was aware that he was hard - achingly so. But Draco didn't touch him, didn't even acknowledge him. Instead he reached for Harry's hands in turn, squeezing them and checking them.  
'Any tingling?' he asked. 'Any numbness?'  
Harry swallowed, dryly, looking down into Draco's perfect eyes. 'No, sir,' he whispered.

'Perfect,' Draco said, pressing a kiss against the bare skin of his stomach, between the ropes. 'You're perfect, Harry.'  
Draco reached down beside himself to pick up another rope and then stood again.  
'I'm going to wrap your thighs now,' he said. 'Colour?'  
'Green,' Harry said, stepping to the side to spread his legs slightly. This was nothing like the last time. This was not fast and dark and silent. This was like being worshipped by a man who couldn't keep his hands away from Harry's body and who had reverence in his every movement.

Draco looped the rope around Harry's stomach, stepping forward so their chests were pressed together as he pulled the rope around to Harry's back and then down between his legs. Harry could feel the strands slip between the cheeks of his arse, rubbing against his hole, the friction cool and smooth. At the same time, Draco pressed forward, grinding himself against Harry's hard cock.  
Harry moaned at the dual sensations, but Draco only let it last for a second before he stepped back, kneeling again as he began to tie circles around Harry's left thigh, knotting each off as he went. As he pulled and tugged on the rope, it rubbed up Harry's arse, the sensation distracting and tormenting.

Harry looked down at Draco, who glanced up at him, the light in his eyes telling Harry that Draco knew exactly what he was doing.  
Draco moved to Harry's right leg, finishing the bindings down to just above his knee and then he stood, stepping back a pace to look Harry over, clearly admiring his work.  
Harry felt like he was on display, like he was a gift, laid out before Draco, wrapped for his pleasure. His cock was sticking out in front of him, framed by the crisscross of ropes.

Harry shifted slightly, loving the slight friction of the ropes against his skin, feeling the way they restricted him, the patterns that played over his skin. He wondered if he would have marks from them. He wanted marks from them.

'Harry,' Draco said, and Harry looked up, realising he'd gotten lost in the sensations playing over his skin.  
'I want to fuck you in the ropes, Harry,' Draco said.  
Harry's cock jerked at those words, at the idea of being bound like this, writhing against the ropes.  
'Please,' he breathed.  
'On the bed,' Draco said. Harry turned immediately, feeling the ropes bite into his skin as he bent his leg, leaning forward to climb onto the bed.

'On your back,' Draco said, and Harry obeyed, feeling the ridges of the ropes pushing against his back and the knots against his skin.  
Harry hissed in a breath as Draco began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it open and off his shoulders.  
Then his eyes caught and held on faint silvery scars that crossed their way up Draco's chest.  
Draco seemed to sense Harry's change in mood and he looked over.

'It's not a big deal, Harry. We've both done far worse to each other than this,' he said, as he rubbed his fingers over his chest. Harry couldn't take his eyes off the scars - scars he'd caused. He'd been so young. So stupid.  
'If you don't want to see them, I can fade them out. The mark is the only thing I can't get rid of,' Draco said, as the scars began to disappear from his body.  
'Don't,' Harry said. The idea that Draco felt he had to hide part of himself from Harry was so wrong. 'Please.'  
Draco's face softened and his concentration relaxed. As it did so, the scars returned.  
'It was a long time ago,' Draco said, his hands dropping to his belt in a clear signal that the conversation was over. Harry's eyes dropped with them and Draco smirked at the response.

He pulled his belt open, unzipping his trousers and letting them fall to the ground before he stepped out of them, pulling his socks off. He stood in front of the bed for a moment, clad only in tight black briefs, then he let his fingers trail down his stomach, cupping his clearly hard cock through the material.  
Harry couldn't take his eyes away from the sight. He felt a pang to know he had missed this, the other times they were together.  
Then Draco dropped the pants too, and he stood naked before Harry, cock jutting out in front of him.

Draco reached over to the bedside table and touched his wand for a moment as he whispered spells to quickly for Harry to catch. Harry braced himself, expecting to feel the charms rush over him, instead he saw Draco close his eyes briefly, hissing in a breath.  
Harry's heart beat faster and he could feel heat burn through him as Draco climbed onto the bed, straddling Harry's hips, sitting up above him.  
'I'm going to ride you, Harry,' Draco said. 'Your only job is to make sure you don't come until I have. Can you do that?'

Harry nodded, almost dizzy with the idea of what was about to happen. 'Yes, sir,' he said.  
'So good,' Draco whispered, as he reached behind himself, hand closing around Harry's hard cock for the first time that night. Draco closed his eyes as he positioned himself above Harry, breathing out sharply as he pushed down.  
Harry cried out at the tightness of it - at the heat. At the thought that he was inside Draco. Draco sank down further, leaning forward to rest his palms on Harry's chest, fingers slipping amongst the ropes tied there.

He pushed his hips down until they were flush with Harry's. Until Harry was buried deep inside him. Harry groaned with the feeling of it and brought his hands up to grip Draco's thighs, unable to stop himself from touching. It was all he could do not to fuck himself up into Draco, to snap his hips forward and chase his pleasure until he came. He'd never felt anything as good as this.

Draco seemed to sense his need, because he opened his eyes again, looking down at Harry and panting softly.  
'Feel good, Potter?' he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face.  
Harry just groaned and nodded.  
Draco leaned forward, dragging himself almost off Harry's cock and then sinking back down, the lube creating a smooth slide. Harry groaned again, his fingers digging into Draco's thighs at the intensity of the sensation.

Draco set up a steady rhythm, working himself on Harry's cock, not touching his own, seemingly in no rush to come. His only goal seemed to be to drive Harry as close to the edge as possible. And he was succeeding. Harry was overwhelmed by the sensations all around him. Draco's tight heat, his hands moving over the ropes, pulling at them and twisting them. The sensation of the ropes across his skin was simultaneously grounding and arousing. He could feel the rope rubbing across his arsehole with every roll of Draco's hips.

'Please,' he said, the word falling easily from his lips. 'Please, sir. Please, Draco. Feels good. So good.'  
Draco stilled his movement, looking down at Harry, his own face tight with pleasure, pupils blown wide. He leaned forward, putting his hands on Harry's collarbones, and then sank slowly back down onto his cock.  
'Like this?' Draco asked, his voice a half moan as his own cock skated against the ropes on Harry's stomach.

'Yes,' Harry breathed. 'Please. Like that.'  
He brought his hands up to Draco's arse, cupping it, pulling his cheeks apart as he thought about how he was inside Draco, how his cock was sliding in and out of him.  
Harry felt a surge of need at that thought so strong he almost came. He sobbed out his want and moved his hips again, pushing up into Draco, chasing Draco's pleasure now, not his own. His would come when he'd given Draco what he needed.  
'Fuck, Harry,' Draco gasped. 'That's it. So good. You're so good.'

Draco's hands slipped slightly on the ropes, one coming up against Harry's throat and Harry punched out a groan at the sensation.  
Draco paused for a moment, his whole body stilling, and then he deliberately brought his hand up to Harry's throat, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing lightly as he watched Harry intently.  
Harry felt his whole world narrow to the feeling of the hand at his neck, squeezing, cutting off his air.  
He had never felt so vulnerable in all his life and the feeling sent a jolt of arousal through him so strong that he cried out, thrusting his hips forward, hard into Draco.

Draco hissed his pleasure and Harry felt the hand tighten, then Draco's mouth was on his, breathing the air as it left Harry's lungs. Draco was all around him, on him, a part of him. In that instant Draco controlled him fully, held his life and death in his hands.  
Harry felt that certainty wrap itself around him, grabbing his pleasure and driving it higher, driving it to something white hot.  
'Now,' Draco whispered, and Harry came, losing himself in the sensation of his release.

\-----

When he came back to himself, the ropes were gone and Draco was singing.

_Ne me quitte pas._  
_Il faut oublier,_  
_Tout peut s’oublier,_  
_Qui s’enfuit déjà._  
_Oublier le temps_  
_Des malentendus_  
_Et le temps perdu_

'What does it mean?' Harry asked sleepily, curling against Draco's naked chest as he listened to the quiet words.  
'Hmm?' Draco asked, looking down at Harry, his fingers stilling momentarily before they began stroking through Harry's hair again.  
'Oh, it's something like "Don't leave me, You have to forget. Everything can be forgotten."'  
He hummed lightly, his voice smooth as he continued, "Forget the time, The misunderstandings, And the time that was lost." His fingers stroked through Harry's hair. "Trying to understand how, These hours can be forgotten."  
'That's grim,' Harry said with a quiet laugh.  
Draco shrugged, 'A lot of the old ones are.'

'You should learn some happier ones,' he said, and he smiled when Draco huffed a laugh.  
'Should I, Potter? You think just because I collared you, you can start bossing me around now? I don't think you know how this works.'  
Harry looked up at Draco, serious now.  
'That's not how this works,' he said, knowing it sounded more like a question, but needing Draco to know.  
Draco looked down at him, eyes fond but exasperated. 'Do you really think I expect you to sub to me for anything outside of a scene?' he asked. 'I have no interest in someone who lives to serve my every wish.'

Harry relaxed back against Draco's chest, then smiled as another thought occured to him.  
'It felt like I knew you,' Harry said, rubbing softly over Draco's stomach, tracing the faint silvery lines of his scars. 'Being able to see you was different, but it felt like I knew your touch.'  
Draco's cheeks pinkened slightly and he looked down.

'How often did you touch me as yourself?' Harry asked, curious.  
'Most times,' Draco admitted. 'I couldn't keep Ladon's form when you were responding so beautifully. I couldn't keep my focus enough.' He coughed, embarrassed. 'I think a part of me didn't want it to be a lie, either. It's why I had to keep blindfolding you.'  
Harry laughed softly. 'I don't mind the blindfold, but I like this better.'

'Me too,' Draco said, pressing a kiss to Harry's hair before resuming his soft singing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's song to Harry is: _Ne me quitte pas_ by Jacques Brel
> 
> Please let me know what you thought. We've all been waiting a long time for this chapter, in so many ways, and I hope it lives up to your expectations.
> 
> Much love  
> Q


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, we're at the end. After 7 months and 170,000 words, it's done. Freedom is coming to a close. Before I wrap it, I wanted to love on some people a little.
> 
> To Seductress_Temple, this story is so much a part of you and I have loved talking to you, getting to know you and exploring Draco and Harry with you. I can't thank you enough for doing this with me.
> 
> DoubleApple, you reaching out and offering your thoughts and then your amazing skills and then your friendship has been a gift. This story truly is so much stronger for the way you push me to think and add and challenge myself. Thank you isn't enough for your time and your passion for it.
> 
> Theboywiththeskulltattoo, you've kept me going, kept me in line, kept my paragraphs on track and kept me honest, especially with Ginny. Thank you so, so much. (I'll talk to you in 3 hrs after I've watched Ep 3 of GoT …)
> 
> Youngjinsol - this story would not have a whole magical theory/Master of Death arc if it weren't for you, and I think we'd all be missing out. Thank you so much for reading, cheering and helping me make the world so much more complex. X
> 
> To Keyflight790 and ElleGray - thank you for jumping in to cheer and help me work shit out. Elle, I hope you like this when you finally read it haha.
> 
> And now, to my beautiful commenters and supporters.  
> Im_a_bird, your comments filled me with such incredible happiness. You always managed to distil exactly what I was trying to show and reflect it back to me. And then you showed me things I didn't even realise I'd done. You gave me so much confidence and I adored every word you wrote me. 
> 
> Andthenshesaid-write, we have come a very long way together. Thank you so, so much for taking the time for such insighful, deep comments and for cheerleading me all the way. I can't wait to work with you on what we both have coming next. We should get a drink some time ;)
> 
> Tedah, you're a champion. I'm so glad I get to be a part of your writing journey now and shower you with some of the love you've showed me.
> 
> Sheila_thetank, thank you for all the screams. I hope you like what I've done to close this off.
> 
> Primaveracerezos, thank you for so many gorgeous comments throughout this. I really have loved knowing that you were supporting and enjoying it.
> 
> SpinnersendSlytherin, I have very much enjoyed reading Blood Magic and I hope you enjoyed this now that it's done at last x
> 
> I also want to shout out to all of you lovely people for leaving me such amazing thoughts and comments through this story. Reading a WIP is a pain in the arse, so thank you so much.  
> Writing it for you has been such a privilege and thank you so, so much for reaching out:  
> Therunningfoxes, SerpensPrincess, Cassiara, love_bookswillbetheendofme, TheDorkyOne, Wizgays, Azamir, hogwartshoney, Synke, Versale, maybe_madeline, Mis_Shapes, Cauldron-cake, GrEatE, Lilian_Silver, OhReallyPotter, gutlesspumpkin, Hypallage, sexraptor, I2N7HUM4N3, Pavatti, MalenkayaCherepakha, tsundanire, anonymousreader, Ineharnia, Ajisai, BookWormAgain, paintedshards, LoopyLion, i-play-the-anvil, Bronzewitch30928, BiTheatreNerd, eib_kom_slakgedakru, OhHamilton, Emily_Northpole, blackandlupin, lukesaysno, Charmed, whoopsthats_sharp, LowerEastSide and everyone else who jumped in along the way. 
> 
> And for those of you who were moved to comment for the first time ever on this story, thank you. It means so much to know my words have touched you in some way.
> 
> Right. *Deep breath*. It's go time.

When Draco woke, the morning light was filtering through the curtains and there was a warm body against his back, an arm around his chest. He lay with his eyes closed a moment, savouring the familiarity of waking up together. Then he looked down, something in his chest squeezing as he saw dark skin, a calloused hand. Harry. Of course. Not Astoria.

He shook his head, clearing it of the fuzziness of early morning. Harry reacted to his movement, his arm tightening as he tilted his hips, pressing his semi-hard length against Draco's naked arse.  
Draco smiled and arched into him, twisting his upper body slightly so he could reach behind himself, tangling his fingers in Harry's mess of hair.  
Harry gave a little sigh behind him and then nuzzled into Draco's neck. He felt the wet rasp of Harry's tongue, and then the faint scrape of teeth.

Draco tugged lightly on Harry's hair, pulling him closer and he took the hint, kissing the spot again, before biting down, his mouth hot against Draco's neck. Draco hissed at the flare of pain and then Harry sucked at his skin, making a little grunting noise of pleasure as he ground his cock, harder now, against Draco's arse.  
No, this was not Astoria in the bed he'd shared with her for the entirety of their marriage, but that was okay. Somehow he thought she'd be happy that he'd finally found someone to share himself with.

Harry left off kissing Draco's neck, pushing himself up onto one elbow and looking down on the spot with pleasure.  
'You've marked me, haven't you?' Draco said, unable to keep the smile from his face. Harry looked so happy with himself, still soft and messy from sleep.  
Harry reached up to touch the collar he still wore around his neck. 'It's only fair,' he said in response. 'You get to show people I'm yours -' he shrugged and Draco felt heat curl within him.  
'Are you saying you'll wear that in public?' he asked, voice suddenly rough.

Harry smiled, a shy smile that was somehow challenging as well. 'Do you want me to?'  
In answer Draco rolled over, pushing Harry onto his back as he lifted a leg, sliding on top of him.  
Draco almost lost his breath at the wanting that entered Harry's eyes, as their naked bodies lined up against each other.  
He leaned down and their mouths met in a kiss that was somehow even better than the night before. There was no uncertainty to it now, and Draco knew that things had changed for both of them.

Harry opened his mouth and Draco groaned at the heat of it, at the slick slide of Harry's tongue against his as they kissed. Harry's arms caressed Draco's sides, running down his body to cup his arse. Draco ground his hips, enjoying the way Harry's grip tightened momentarily as their cocks rubbed against each other. He did it again and then again, burying his fingers in Harry's hair as their kisses got messier.

Then Harry stopped, pushing lightly on Draco's chest until he moved back, leaning on his elbows, hips still flush with Harry's.  
He looked down at Harry, at the way his pupils were blown wide with desire, his lips flushed, his breathing coming quickly. Just the sight of him like this made Draco want to take him to pieces until he was begging to come.  
The next words out of Harry's mouth drove every thought from his mind.  
'I want to suck you,' Harry said, voice low, as he squeezed Draco's arse, pushing up into him again.

Draco looked down at him for the briefest of seconds before he began to move, pushing back until he was sitting on his heels, knees either side of Harry's hips. He thought for a second about what position would be easiest for Harry, but Harry was already reaching for him, urging him up the bed until he knelt so he was straddling Harry's chest.  
Draco's cock was bobbing just inches from Harry's mouth, all he would have to do was tilt his hips forward … Draco reached sideways for the bedside table, just managing to graze his wand. He whispered a cleaning charm over both of them just as Harry took advantage of his position to close his mouth around the end of Draco's cock. It was hot and wet and he sucked back immediately.

'Fuck, Potter,' Draco groaned, as he straightened up, leaning forward to put his hands on the bed head. 'Warn a man.'  
Harry just smirked up at him, mouth around his cock, green eyes flashing and Draco felt a jolt of something more than lust flow through him. This was Harry. Harry was in his bed. Harry was swallowing him down. Wearing his collar. Looking at him like he was the only one in the world.

Draco had to close his eyes. He couldn't deal with the intensity of Harry's gaze - with the words that wanted to spring to his lips - the words it was far too early to say. He leaned his head back, groaning as Harry's strong hands dug into his arse, pulling him forward as that wet, perfect heat licked up and down his shaft.  
'Fuck,' he gasped again as Harry's tongue swirled around the head of his cock, licking at him, tonguing against his slit and licking his foreskin down.  
'Have you ever done this before?' Draco asked, looking down at Harry again. Harry had his eyes closed, as if he was thinking of nothing more than what he was doing to Draco. He opened them at Draco's words and shook his head, his mouth not leaving Draco's cock.

Draco reached down to cup Harry's cheek and Harry moved slightly, opening his mouth wider so the head of Draco's cock pushed against his palm. He pushed his fingers against Harry's cheek, moaning lightly at the sensation.  
'You're a tease,' he said, surprise colouring his tone.  
Harry raised his eyebrows, the look in his eyes sharpening, as he pulled back, letting Draco's cock bob out of his mouth, wet and aching.

'Tease?' he asked, pushing at Draco's hips. 'Flip over and I'll show you a tease.' He swallowed heavily, licking at his lips. 'I still haven't forgotten what it felt like that time you did it to me.'  
'Did what -' Draco began, but Harry was already pushing at his hips, turning him to the side and then backwards, until he was looking down at the foot of the bed, legs spread either side of Harry's chest.  
It was only a second later before Draco's question was answered as he felt his arse cheeks spread and then Harry's tongue was on him. 

Draco gasped as the air left his lungs in a rush. Harry's tongue licked over him in broad, firm strokes. Draco couldn't help but push back into him. He'd seen it done, many times. Had even done it himself, that once, with Harry. But he'd never let someone -  
'Fuck,' he breathed as Harry's strokes slowed and softened and he felt a kiss against his skin. Harry's hands were on his arse still, spreading him. Draco looked back over his shoulder and the look of … worship on Harry's face was almost enough to send him over the edge.

Harry licked at him again and Draco had to stop watching him. He gripped his own cock hard, trying to stop his orgasm from gathering, as Harry's strokes got more deliberate, and he began to work his tongue around Draco's hole. It was as Harry's tongue pushed at him, seeking entry, that Draco finally looked down.  
Harry's cock was right there in front of him, hard and leaking, bobbing as he moved his hips, his legs writhing slightly on the bed, lost in the pleasure of what he was doing.

Draco leaned forward, bracing one hand beside Harry's hip and leaning back, pushing his arse into Harry's face. Harry moaned loudly and his effort renewed. It was as his tongue breached Draco's hole that Draco took Harry's cock in his fist, leaning forward to swallow him down.  
They both moaned at the same time. Harry at the unexpected pleasure and Draco at the fact that he was finally tasting Harry - finally feeling him in his mouth.  
He'd never done this before either, but from Harry's enthusiastic response behind him and the way his hips were making little aborted jerks, as though he couldn't quite help himself, Draco felt confident he'd got it right.

He sucked back on Harry's cock, feeling the hot hardness of it in his mouth and in his hand. One of Harry's hands worked its way between them and suddenly Draco was making the same hip jerks as Harry's tongue entered his arse again and again.  
Draco sucked up and down Harry's cock as he rolled his hips, trying to simultaneously press back against the tongue in him and fuck forward into the hand around him.  
Harry was moaning almost constantly now, muffled noises of pleasure Draco didn't think he knew he was making.

Draco sucked harder, swirling his tongue and Harry's hips jerked again.  
Draco tried to push through the overwhelming pleasure Harry was giving him, enough to think, to make sure Harry was getting what he wanted too.  
Harry was messy now, kissing and licking at his arse as though he couldn't get enough of it and Draco found himself gasping for breath, moaning around Harry's cock. Then he had an idea, and he scraped his teeth lightly up Harry's length.  
Harry hissed, gasping out a moan and Draco stilled.

'Again,' Harry slurred and Draco grinned around his cock, scraping his teeth again before biting down lightly.  
'Fuck,' Harry gasped, his movement on Draco's cock slowing. Draco pulled back slightly, blowing on the sensitive head, Harry's foreskin fully retracted, watching how he jerked and shuddered. Then he leaned in, enclosing Harry in the heat of his mouth.  
Harry gave a slow jerk of Draco's cock which stopped as Draco let Harry feel his teeth again.

Draco pulled off, sitting up and looking back over his shoulder at Harry with a grin that he knew was just on the edge of the schoolboy sneer he used to wear.  
'I thought _you_ were supposed to be teasing _me_ , Potter,' he said, raising an eyebrow.  
The look on Harry's face was dazed and he nodded, biting his lip, then his mouth quirked into a smile and he sat up suddenly, tipping Draco onto the bed between his legs and manhandling him until he was on his back. Draco didn't have a moment to think before Harry's mouth was around his cock again, the suction hard and fast now, Harry's hand on him as well.

Draco pushed himself up, leaning back on his hands and groaning at the feeling - at the sight - of Harry working him, but it was when he noticed Harry's other hand underneath himself, gripping his own cock that he nearly came.  
'Hands on me,' Draco said, voice raw.  
Harry's eyes flashed but he obeyed, gripping Draco's leg as he continued to lick and suck at him, grinding against the bed as he chased his own release.

'You can come like this, can't you, Harry?' Draco said, not missing the way Harry shivered at his words, eyes closing for a moment as his movements slowed.  
'Just from knowing how good you're - fuck - making me feel?' Draco panted.  
Harry groaned in response, the sound sending vibrations through Draco's cock and making him jerk his hips, pressing into Harry's mouth.  
Harry moaned again, his hips jerking against the bed as his hand and mouth began working faster on Draco.

Draco could feel his orgasm building again, just from watching the way Harry was losing himself in the pleasure.  
'Gods, you look amazing,' he said, tangling his fingers in Harry's hair and feeling the way he was working back and forth.  
'That's it, love,' he groaned.  
Harry's hips jerked once, hard into the bed as he ground forward at Draco's words, and then his hands and mouth went slack and he moaned as he began to come.

'Fuck, Harry,' Draco said, hand still on Harry's hair as he pushed his cock forward, once, twice. 'You're so fucking hot.'  
He pulled Harry's head back and replaced Harry's fist with his own as he began to strip his cock fast, slicking over the wetness Harry had left on him. Thirty seconds later he was coming all over Harry's bared throat, crying out as he painted stripes over Harry's neck and collar.

Draco let his hand fall to the bed as he looked at Harry, stretched out across the covers, leaning on his elbows, covered in Draco's come.  
Then Harry grinned and very deliberately swiped a finger over his neck, bringing it to his mouth and sucking it.  
Draco felt heat roar through him. He groaned and leaned down, capturing Harry's mouth in a kiss that tasted of the both of them.  
'You're going to ruin me, Potter,' he murmured, further words lost as Harry drew them both back up the bed.

\-----

Three hours later Harry was waiting at the park. He'd taken the collar off when he left Draco's and he could feel his magic dancing over his skin, wanting to play in the wind. He tamped it down, wishing he could find a way to lower the strength of it, instead of cutting it off altogether, the way the collar did.

He clutched a bag in one hand as he looked around, trying to spot the familiar blond heads. It was a warm day and there were quite a few people around on the playground and under the shade of the large oaks dotted around the place. But he couldn't see anyone he knew.

Harry could feel nerves fluttering through him and he tried to ignore them. He was being ridiculous. He was meeting a five year old, not going up in front of the Wizengamot.  
_But you want him to like you still_ , his inner voice whispered. _You disappeared from his life for three months without a reason_. Harry huffed, shifting from foot to foot. He'd been ecstatic when Draco had suggested after their shower - and a slow, sweet fucking between his closed thighs that still tingled through him - that maybe the three of them could have lunch in the park, if Harry wanted to.

A flash of pale hair broke him out of his reverie and Harry turned to see Draco and Scorpius walking towards him, Scorpius pulling at Draco's hand and pointing at everything as he talked in a continuous stream. The boy was wearing shorts and a t-shirt that had a unicorn with a colourful mane on it. Draco wore jeans and a tight black t-shirt that dipped slightly at the neck. Harry's mouth went dry looking at him.

Then Scorpius looked up and saw Harry standing at the edge of the path ahead. He abruptly went quiet, letting Draco's arm go slack as he stepped in closer to his father.  
Draco glanced down at him and then took the last few steps forward until they were standing opposite Harry, then he knelt down, putting his arm around Scorpius' waist.

'You remember Harry, don't you?' he asked.  
Scorpius' grey eyes flicked up to Harry and then away, but he nodded.  
Harry felt something clench in his chest and he knelt as well.  
'Hi Scorpius,' he said. 'I've missed you. Sorry I haven't been around for a while. Your dad told me you're getting good at flying that Slipstream of yours?'  
Scorpius' eyes lit up and he nodded more eagerly. 'I can fly faster than papa,' he said, voice quiet still as he leaned in to Draco.

'I bet you can,' Harry said, trying to stop the grin from breaking across his face at Draco's soft snort.  
'Maybe you and I can have a race some time, what do you recon?'  
Scorpius seemed to consider that for a moment but then he smiled. 'Okay. What do you have in that bag?'  
' _Chut, mon chéri. Sois sage_ ,' Draco said quietly and Scorpius glanced up at him, biting his lip as he eyed the bag.

'It's fine,' Harry said, smiling at the boy, 'I brought it for you. It's food for the ducks.'  
'Bread?' Scorpius asked, leaning in to take a look in the bag Harry held open.  
Harry shook his head. 'No, bread is no good for them. It's corn and lettuce and seeds. Things they could find if they were walking around looking for their own food.'

Harry stopped, as though struck by an idea. 'Unless,' he said, looking at the boy, 'do you think ducks can bake bread?'  
Scorpius giggled, shaking his head. 'Noooo,' he said. 'They don't have hands.'  
'Hmm,' Harry said. 'I think you're right. We'll just have to give them what's in this bag. What do you think?'  
Scorpius nodded and reached for Draco's hand, tugging him to his feet.  
'Come feed the ducks with me, papa,' he said.

Draco smiled at Harry, who climbed to his feet as well, moving to walk at Draco's shoulder, their arms brushing together. 'You're good at this,' Draco murmured, and Harry felt the ghost of what could have been run through him.  
'I hope I would have been a good dad,' he said quietly. 'I've thought about my own dad so much, over my life. I like to think he would have been good at it as well.'  
Draco didn't respond, but he twined his fingers through Harry's as they moved down to the water.

When they got there, Scorpius immediately turned to Harry.  
'Can I have some duck food, please?' he asked. 'I want to feed that big one with the green head. He looks like your eyes do,' he said, looking up at Harry.  
Harry glanced over at Draco to see him stifling a smile.  
'We could call that duck Harry,' Draco said. 'Maybe he'll follow us home?'  
Harry 'accidentally' elbowed Draco in the side as he leaned down to let Scorpius reach into the bag and bring out something for the ducks.

'He looks like a very handsome duck,' Harry said, with a sideways smirk at Draco as he took a handful of the corn and lettuce himself. 'Smart, too.'  
The five ducks on the water seemed to realise all of a sudden what was happening and paddled immediately to where the three of them were standing.  
The Harry duck scrambled up the bank first, almost reaching the top before another came up behind him, jostling him. He tumbled backwards into the water, flapping his wings and spraying droplets everywhere.

Draco laughed out loud. 'So graceful, Potter. Such an intelligent duck.'  
Harry gave him a mock glare, which just made Draco laugh harder and after a few moments Harry couldn't do anything but stare at him. He didn't think he'd ever seen Draco so carefree - just so openly happy.  
Scorpius was giggling too, throwing some lettuce to 'Harry' in the water, who was ruffling his wings and preening himself, before paddling forward to scoop up the food.

Draco was still huffing occasionally, a smile across his face he couldn't seem to get rid of, when they sat on the grass a few metres back from the edge, watching as Scorpius chatted away to the ducks as he fed them one corn kernel at a time.  
Harry was surprised to see how calm the boy was with the creatures crowding around him, but then he realised none of them were coming closer than an arm's length away.

'Did you shield your son?' he asked Draco with a raised eyebrow.  
It was Draco's turn to mock scowl. 'I couldn't bloody well have ducks eating him, could I?'  
Harry laughed. 'That's magic use in a Muggle area,' he said, affecting a serious tone. 'And in front of the Head Auror, no less.'  
Draco leaned in close, murmuring in Harry's ear. 'I'm pretty sure I can convince the Head Auror to let me off with a warning,' he said, voice low as his lip grazed Harry's ear. Harry huffed out a breath, heat suddenly curling through him. He felt his magic rush through him, surging to the surface as though it wanted to join with Draco's and make them both feel good. He wrestled it back down.

Draco sat back, not acting on his words, and Harry tried not to feel disappointed. Everything was still so new between them, and he felt like he couldn't get enough of Draco.  
Harry looked at him, hair shining in the sunlight, body long and graceful as he stretched his legs out in front of him.  
'The trial is next week,' Draco said suddenly. He was watching Scorpius, a deliberate casualness to his posture that Harry could see straight through.  
'How are you feeling about it?' Harry asked.  
Draco shrugged, eyes flicking to him before he looked away again.  
'My father needs to be jailed. Properly this time. He killed people.'

Harry hummed his agreement, knowing it wasn't that simple. 'Do - I can't be in the stand with you, but do you want me to support you at all, during it?' He knew what he was asking. Knew it was far to soon for the unspoken words. _Do you want me to show the world that we're together? Are you ready for that?_.  
Draco turned his attention back to Harry, considering him for a moment, before he nodded once.  
'I'd like that.'

\-----

The lead-up to the trial passed quickly. Harry went back into the office on Monday, officially ending his leave. Javier had sent a terse reply to Harry's owl, and so the first thing he did, after he'd seen Mrs. Norris and thanked her for supporting Sue in his absence, was to head up to the DMLE office, let Javier's secretary know he only needed a minute, and knock on his door.

He'd thought a lot about his job during the last few months, using the tools Jayne had taught him to think through his stress points and identify the things he enjoyed and grew from.  
When his boss looked up from his desk, his eyes widened slightly, then narrowed.  
'Do you mind if I have a moment?' Harry asked. Javier's face became even more suspicious and Harry couldn't blame him. He could count the amount of times he'd entered this office voluntarily, let alone politely, on one hand. One of the things he'd recognised, in his reflections, was that, yes, Javier drove him up the wall, but that Harry himself probably hadn't been the easiest person to work with either.

Javier waved Harry to a chair and then sat back, crossing his arms.  
Harry sat, taking a deep breath and trying to think about where he wanted to start.  
'I've been doing a lot of thinking while I've been on leave,' he said. Javier watched him, unmoving, and Harry continued. 'I want to apologise for the times when I've been deliberately out of line or difficult to work with.'  
Javier's eyes widened and his arms uncrossed slightly as he leaned forward.  
'I want you to know that I've always had the best interests of my team at heart,' Harry paused, breathing deeply, and said the part that he hoped was true, ' and that I believe that is one of your considerations as well.'

'It is,' Javier acknowledged, after a long moment. He seemed to consider Harry, measuring him, then he spoke again.  
'What happened at Malfoy Manor - you were expecting something like that, weren't you?'  
Harry nodded after a moment. 'They always come back,' he said simply.  
Javier nodded, watching Harry, as though he was a strange puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.  
'You've been cleared for duty,' he said instead. Harry bent his head in acknowledgement. 'Do you have any concerns about that clearance?' Javier asked, and Harry's first inclination was to bristle at the question and tell Javier it was none of his business. For a moment he felt his magic spark, rushing to his defence and he had to bite his cheek to distract him enough to push it back down. Pulling his bosses office apart accidentally wasn't going to endear him. He took a breath, paused and reminded himself that he would ask any of his team exactly the same question.

'I don't,' he responded. 'I think I'm in a much stronger position to support my team and the DMLE as a whole than I ever have been,' he said instead. He paused, considering something he'd been tossing around, and deciding to float it.  
'I was thinking, while I was away, about a few things I think are slowing us down and taking up resources. I think we can make cost and time efficiencies by changing some of the outdated processes and requirements.' He looked at Javier, but the man wasn't turning him away, or laughing at him.

Harry continued. 'I'd like to draft something and bring it to you to talk through.'  
That same look was in Javier's eye, like Harry was some strange configuration of parts that he just couldn't put together in the correct order. _Gods, I was a right shit_ , Harry thought.  
'The reduction in Auror teams from four to two has been shelved,' Javier said, instead of responding to his suggestion.  
'I know,' Harry replied. Sue had filled him in once the decision had been made.  
'The Minister has decided the cost-cutting isn't required,' Javier continued.

Harry realised Javier thought he was only bothering to try and work with him to get the proposal pulled.  
'I know,' Harry said. 'I still think these changes will reduce the admin burden on all of our teams, allowing more time for active duty, training, and civic engagement. I think we need to be proactive, rather than reactive. We could do with supporting some of the current reforms coming from the Law Office and the Reparation Society as well.'  
Javier's face wore a look of open shock now. 'Indeed,' he said quietly.

Harry stood, reaching across the man's desk to offer his hand. Javier closed his mouth and then reached for Harry's hand, his grip firm.  
'Thank you for your visit, Head Auror.'

\-----

Harry spent the rest of the week connecting with his team and the caseload, and coming up to speed on trial prep. He had dinner with Draco and Scorpius twice, though he hadn’t stayed the night again. He made sure he left the office by six every night, leaving his files behind. Work was going well. His magic was the part he was having trouble with. It had been wilder since he'd let Draco collar him a few days before, as though it knew it had been locked away and wasn't happy with it. 

He was doing more and more accidental magic lately. It seemed to be bleeding from him. Things changed colours or shapes as he walked past them. Plants bloomed … or died. He had to make a conscious effort at all times to monitor what his magic was doing and to keep it under control. It was exhausting, and he considered more than once just asking Draco to permanently collar him. But that wouldn't solve the problem. Without magic he couldn't get into Grimmauld Place, or the Ministry, let alone do any one of the thousand things that he relied on his magic for. Hermione had owled saying she was looking into a new idea and that she would be in touch soon. He hoped whatever it was would work.

By the time Friday, and the trial, rolled around, Harry both felt like he'd never left and like everything was different. He'd spoken to each of his senior staff and to Mrs. Norris about the changes he was planning to make. No one had objected. Jones, and surprisingly, Mrs. Norris herself, had been forthcoming with a number of suggestions that would make life easier for them all.

Rudolph Avery had been tried earlier in the month. The evidence against him was overwhelming. They had Muggle video footage of him entering the Sky Gardens and interacting with one of the Muggle victims. He had tested positive for polyjuice residue and the owners of the warehouse the bomb had been made in had positively identified him. He'd been given life in Azkaban. No parole.

Lucius Malfoy was a different matter. Avery had refused to testify against him. He was not directly implicated in any crimes and his lawyer was claiming the recording Harry had made of his capture in the Manor was doctored evidence, and that Lucius had been under Imperius and forced to say those things. Of course, he'd come up with those claims days after it would have been possible to test him for residue.

Harry looked over his notes again, clearing his mind and preparing for his goal; to get Lucius taken away - put somewhere he could never hurt his son or grandson again. Harry stood from his desk, taking his formal robes from the peg by the door and slipping them on. He did up the heavy buttons and smoothed the starched material. It stretched across his shoulders and he shrugged into the feel of it, knowing he would need all the armour he could get today. He spelled his window into a mirror for a moment and glanced into it. He'd shaved that morning. Even his boots were a highly polished black. He looked ready.

Jones and Sue joined him as he walked back through the bullpen. She would be testifying as well. She gave him a measured nod and they made their way to the lifts together, moving down the spiral staircase and towards the courts.  
Harry was not surprised, as he entered, to see the court was packed. The full Wizengamot sat today, resplendent in their plum-coloured robes, the reporters' stand was overflowing and every seat in the viewing gallery was full. The courtroom was buzzing with noise.

Harry had eyes for just one person. He scanned the room, letting out a breath when he saw Draco sitting in the front row of the area off to the left reserved for civilian witnesses. He moved in that direction, waving Jones and Sue to their seats in the centre of the room.  
Draco was wearing crisp black formal robes and his hair was slicked back, almost like he'd used to wear it at school. The look on his face was cold and impassive but Harry knew he would be a riot of emotions inside. They'd been exchanging owls all week, going over Draco's testimony - what he should say, what he should leave out. Harry knew that despite everything, speaking against his father was going to be hard for him.

He was a few steps away when Draco's gaze flipped to him, eyes widening slightly. Harry saw a hint of relief in them and he stepped closer to the railing, leaning in to speak to Draco.  
'How are you feeling?' he asked quietly, looking into his eyes.  
'Fine,' Draco answered. Harry raised an eyebrow and Draco huffed.  
'What do you want to know, Potter? That I feel like I'm going to vomit? Fine. I feel like shit and I just want this to be over.'  
Harry wanted badly to be able to hold Draco, to let him know this was going to be alright.

'Can I give you a hug?' he asked, speaking before he'd even decided to.  
Draco looked at him, grey eyes widening in surprise. His eyes flicked behind Harry, to the reporters and then up to the Wizengamot and around the room. He knew what Harry was asking. _Can I make this official? Us?_  
A hint of a smile crossed Draco's lips and he nodded once.

Harry stepped closer to the railing and reached across it, pulling Draco to his feet. He put his arms around Draco's slim form, the railing digging into his thighs, pulling him close for just long enough that Draco returned the gesture, breathing a quick _thank you_ in his ear. Harry knew it was for the contact itself, for the comfort, but also for the fact that Harry wanted the world to know.

Around the courtroom, whispers broke out and as Harry let go of Draco he heard the flash of bulbs going off. He ignored them.  
'You'll be fine,' he said, cupping Draco's cheek with one hand as he rested their foreheads together for a moment. 'Just don't let anything he says get under your skin.'  
Draco nodded and Harry let go of him, stepping back from the stand and turning towards the gallery in the centre, where Ministry staff sat during proceedings.  
Sue gave him an approving smile as he sat down and Jones elbowed him in the side, 'Nice one, boss.'

A moment later, the court quieted as a bell tolled, and everyone rose as the Chief Warlock, Myrcella Marchbanks, entered from a door behind her raised podium. Harry took a deep breath and focused on controlling his nerves and his magic. He couldn't afford to have it flare up now. Nothing could get in the way of getting this conviction. He didn't think he'd ever wanted one as badly.

Marchbanks sat and there was a rustle of clothing as everyone around her sat as well.  
'Today we will hear the charges against Lucius Malfoy,' she said in a loud, clear voice. 'I will have order in my court throughout the entire proceedings. Anyone who violates this expectation will be removed immediately.' She looked around the cavernous courtroom with a hard gaze, seemingly satisfied when she saw no opposition.  
'Bring in the accused,' she said, glancing at the side door below the Wizengamot benches.

It opened a moment later and there was a sudden hush as Lucius Malfoy was led through. A second later angry whispers broke out and there were mutterings around the room. Marchbanks let it go on for a second before she banged a gravel hard on the podium. The sound cut off immediately. Harry didn't look up at the noise. He was watching Draco, whose eyes were fixed unblinkingly on his father as he was led into the court.

Lucius was in dress robes, hair long and flowing over his shoulders. He looked around the court with his nose slightly in the air, as though he was bored by the proceedings. His eyes narrowed infinitesimally as they passed over Draco, but he didn't pause. Harry saw Draco's jaw clench, and he sent him silent strength.

Lucius was led to a table beside the raised platform in the middle of the room. He lowered himself to sit beside his lawyer, looking for all the world like he was there out of choice. Harry gritted his teeth, staring at the man's back, glad at least that Lucius was sitting far enough forward in the courtroom that he couldn't easily turn to look at Draco.

'We will hear opening statements,' Marchbanks said. The Ministry lawyer stood, stepping up onto the platform to address the Wizengamot, and the trial began.  
Harry watched the proceedings with a razor eye, glancing at Draco occasionally to see how he was holding up. Draco's eyes were fixed on the back of his father's head, and Harry had to look away.  
Sue passed him notes occasionally, reinforcing the things that Elders, the Ministry's prosecution lawyer, was saying.

When Elders was finished, Lucius' lawyer stood. Harry recognised him from the questioning they'd brought him in for during the case - his name was Gregory Giles, and he was a slippery bastard. Harry had been singularly unsurprised to find he was the Malfoy family lawyer.

His opening statement was simple.  
'My client is an old man who has been incarcerated for the past twelve years. He was been cut off completely from society, alone since he lost his wife three years ago. He had not the means nor the access to be a part of any of these crimes. He was duped by a young radicalised man who entered his life to provide the companionship and comfort Mr. Malfoy's own son denied him.' Harry's gaze shot to Draco, whose expression darkened before he forced himself back to calm.  
'The defence will argue today that Mr Malfoy's son,' and here Giles turned to fix Draco with a disparaging look, 'fabricated all of the evidence against him so as to claim his father's property and fortune.'

Harry felt sick as the words washed over him. This was not the line of attack he'd been anticipating. To know that this was going to be a fight pitting Draco against his father was far worse than he'd thought. Lucius was throwing his son under the bus, and Harry had never hated him more than at that moment.

Elders returned to the stand and began to lay out the series of events, the crimes that had been committed and the charges being brought against Lucius.  
Harry was brought to the stand a number of times to verify evidence and account for procedure. He kept his tone calm and professional, laying the events out clearly and concisely, his notes almost burned into his brain.

Giles' cross-examination was a savage thing, pointing at Harry's leave of absence, his divorce and the fact that he had authorised Draco's arrest and interrogation. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Lucius watching him. He ignored him. Ignored everything Giles was saying. Refused to let it under his skin. Once he wouldn't have been able to. Once he would have shouted back, cursed the slimy git.  
But now, he focussed on his breathing, focussed on thoughts of Draco, and let Elders call his objections.

Giles had a disgruntled look on his face when he indicated Harry should step down. Harry felt a brief glow of satisfaction at knowing he hadn't risen to the baits Giles had clearly been dangling for him.

The next to be called to the stand was Draco. He didn't look at Harry as he walked past, but he did glance at Lucius as he climbed the step to the stand. Harry could see Lucius' face as he turned to watch Draco. The smile on his face was knowing, and Harry couldn't help the feeling of disquiet it stirred.

Giles stepped forward.  
'Do you agree to be dosed with Veritaserum?' he asked Draco immediately. Draco's hands jerked into a quick fist before he forced himself to relax.  
There was a shocked whisper around the courtroom at the words. Harry had pushed to his feet before he realised, but Elders' voice rose above the noise. 'Objection! No grounds.'  
Giles turned to face the assembled Wizengamot members.  
'Draco Malfoy is a former death eater. He has been tried for war crimes. He is the sole heir to his father's fortune and he is the cornerstone to the case against him. What guarantee does Mr Malfoy have if his son is able to lie with impunity?'

Harry's heart sank as he saw Marchbanks considering it, her eyes moving to Draco's still form. Finally she gave a single nod. Harry forced himself not to push his way up there, drag Draco from the stand and tell them all they could be damned. He forced himself to take a breath. Draco would be okay. He knew how to handle himself.

Harry clenched his fists, cursing the fact that Veritaserum couldn't legally be used on a defendant. It wasn't foolproof. A skilled liar could tell just the right kind of truths to get around it, so it had been banned from use as an interrogation tool to force a confession from a defendant on the stands. That didn't mean it wasn't still useful for analysing the motives of witnesses. Harry felt a brief pang at the times he had authorised that very process.

There was a pause as an Auror left the room, returning a few minutes later with a small vial full of clear liquid. Draco stepped down from the stand. Facing impassively ahead he opened his mouth and both lawyers watched as exactly one drop of Veritaserum was placed on his tongue.

He returned to the stand, still not looking at Harry. Harry felt his heart clench to watch him, and Sue leaned over to whisper, 'Relax, don't let them see you're rattled too. You don't want that lawyer making the connection between you two.'  
Harry forced himself to breath and to unclench his fists.

Giles stepped forward and began.  
'State your full name, the reason you are here and one embarrassing fact about yourself.'  
Harry felt a flare of outrage at the attempt to undermine Draco's credibility, even though he knew a forced statement was a method of establishing the Veritaserum was working. Draco's shoulders stiffened but he was speaking before Giles had even finished.  
'My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy. I - was asked to testify. And I - slept with a toy dragon until I was seventeen.'  
There was a titter of derisive laughter around the court and Harry glared at Giles, loathing filling him. He forced himself to breathe again, looking back at Draco. He was doing exactly what Harry had hoped, picking through all the truths trying to force their way into his mouth and choosing the ones he wanted to share.

From the look that sharpened Giles' features, he knew it too.  
'Will you share with the court your exact feelings about your father over the past five years?'  
Harry saw Draco's fingers twitch and curl but then he was speaking. 'I hate him. I despise the way he thinks and the things he plans and the fact that he's filled with hatred. I don't want to spend time with him. I wanted to kill him when he kidnapped my -'  
'That's enough,' Giles said, holding up a hand. 'Do you harbour any positive thoughts about your father?'  
Draco glanced sideways at his father for a moment before he resumed staring stiffly ahead. His voice was cold and hard and this time only two words escaped. 'Not anymore.'

'And the Manor?' Giles continued. 'His fortune? How do you feel about that. Do you feel like it should rightly be yours?'  
'Objection!' Elders cried. 'Leading the witness.'  
'Denied,' Marchbanks said, voice implacable. 'Leading is acceptable while under Veritaserum. Mr. Malfoy can only answer in statements that are true.'  
Giles smiled, and Harry was reminded of the sharks he'd seen at the aquarium, their eyes cold and hungry.  
'Do you think your father's fortune should be yours?' he asked again, staring at Draco.

Draco's fingers clenched into fists. 'Yes,' he gritted out after a moment. Harry willed him to go on, to explain himself, but he stayed silent.  
Giles smiled slowly, a look of triumph in his eyes.  
'And your son, Mr. Malfoy, Scorpius. Would you do anything for him? To give him what was rightfully his?'  
Harry's heart sank as Draco's voice came again, low with defeat.  
'Yes.'

'No further questions,' Giles said, returning to his seat with a smug look. Harry wondered at that until he remembered they'd only administered one drop. Fifteen minutes. The bastard had questioned Draco for exactly the same length of time as the Veritaserum would affect him.

Elders stepped up to the stand.  
'When did you begin to suspect your father's involvement in the Muggle killings?' he asked.  
'I spoke to Auror Potter a few days after the first attack,' Draco replied, squaring his shoulders. Harry saw him take a deep breath and cheered him on silently. He felt strung tight with anxiety watching Draco. 'He indicated to me that there was a possibility the Muggle man driving the van hadn’t been acting alone, and he asked me to provide him a list of possible wizarding connections to an event like that.'  
'And you thought of your father immediately?' Elders asked.

'Objection,' Giles called from his seat. 'Prosecutor needs to determine if witness is still under Veritaserum.'  
Elders shot a glance at Giles that made it clear to Harry that he knew it had expired as well and was hoping to bypass that fact, then he looked back at Draco.  
'Mr. Malfoy, are you still under the influence of Veritaserum?'  
Draco shook his head slightly, then said, 'No.'  
Harry's shoulders sagged, and he hoped Draco's testimony was strong enough to stand up to the doubt and motive Giles had implanted.

Draco didn't miss a beat throughout his questioning. He explained his concerns over his father's behaviour over a number of years, the reasons he'd reported those suspicions. He took the court through the information he'd uncovered in the letters in clear, simple steps, showing the links and the hidden meanings, in much the same way as he'd explained it to Harry.

Then, under Elders' prompting, he described the night of Scorpius' abduction, his terror at realising his son was gone. He recounted Avery's words that night, about how they would remove Draco to make way for Scorpius.  
'And then I walked into the room,' Draco said, the edge of his anguish still in his voice, 'my old room, and he was there, like a spider in its web, hovering over my drugged and unconscious son.'

Harry felt his heart twist at the vulnerability in Draco's voice, at the heartache he was baring before all of these strangers, for a chance to make sure Scorpius could never be hurt again.

When Draco's testimony had concluded, they put Lucius on the stand. Harry figured it was late afternoon, but time moved strangely down in the courtrooms. He thought he should be feeling hungry, or tired, but he just felt on edge. It seemed the rest of the courtroom felt the same. Marchbanks didn't call for recess, instead she stared down at Lucius, as though analysing a particularly interesting insect.  
'Proceed,' she said, and Harry wished again that they could just dose him up and ask him straight out if he planned the whole thing. But there was no way Marchbanks would allow such a flagrant challenge to the law in her courtroom.

Giles took Lucius through his testimony, clearly trying to establish him as a lonely old man who was no threat to anyone. Harry didn't buy it and looking around the courtroom, he didn't think many others did either. Lucius was just too _cold_ , sitting straight-backed in his chair, nose in the air as though the lot of them were beneath him. Everything about him screamed a sense of smug superiority, as though this was just one more situation he would twist to his advantage and come out on top of.  
Harry allowed himself to hope. Surely the court would see the truth of the case.

Elders' cross-examination was clearly based on his viewing of the record of Lucius' confession  
'Do you believe Muggles are … dangerous?' he asked, an eyebrow cocked as though this was a reasonable question.  
Harry could see Lucius's hands, wrapped lightly around the railing of the stand, twitch slightly at the questions.  
'I read the Muggle newspapers,' Lucius said. 'Do you know what they are full of? Death. Killing. Rape. War. Terrorism. All they ever do is hurt each other. They're like rats in a sinking ship, tearing each other down in their struggle to survive.'

'Do you believe Muggles are dangerous to wizards?' Elders rephrased.  
Lucius' head tilted to one side, his hair a shimmering curtain down his back.  
'Do you know what else the Muggle newspapers are full of? Guns, and bombs. Do you know how easy it would be for any Muggle to pick up a gun and tear an unsuspecting wizard to pieces? Avada Kedavra is nothing before a "semi-automatic".'  
'Just as easy as a Muggle climbing into a van and driving it into a bus full of wizards?' Elders asked, face shrewd.  
'Indeed,' Lucius murmured.

Elders' examination of Lucius took almost an hour, but through it all he remained calm, turning questions back on the prosecutor again and again, his answers sounding reasonable until you stopped to think about them. Harry felt his agitation growing as he watched. Surely people wouldn't be drawn in by the show. Surely. But he remembered the last time Lucius had escaped justice, had reintegrated himself back into society after Voldemort's first defeat. He didn’t know what he would do if that happened again.

Once the closing statements had concluded, the Chief Warlock rose, and the entire room rose with her. She turned and stepped through the door behind her podium, each of the Wizengamot members filing into the middle of their stands to follow her through the same door.  
As she left, there was another rustle of noise as everyone sat, a buzz of talk springing up around the room.  
Harry looked across at Draco, but he was locked in a battle of wills with Lucius, who had turned in his seat to stare his son down. Harry could see the side of his face. His sneer.

He couldn't help himself. He crooked his finger and the leg of Lucius' chair wobbled and bent, throwing him back slightly before it straightened and hardened again. Lucius' head snapped around, seeking the perpetrator, but Harry was already looking at Draco again, his heart aching with the exhaustion he could see in the slight slump of Draco's shoulders, the way his hair was ruffled from his fingers running through it.  
As soon as this case was tried, he would -

Harry's thoughts were cut off by the opening of the door in the stands above. Members of the Wizengamot filed back into their seats, staring impassively out at the gathered spectators. Harry looked at them in surprise, rising with the rest as Marchbanks re-entered the room. They'd come back so fast. It was unheard of for the Wizengamot to be prepared to cast a verdict so soon after the close of trial.  
Marchbanks sat and the courtroom did with her. She folded her hands in front of her and looked down at Lucius, sitting beside his lawyer below.  
He looked unaffected, but Harry could see his foot twitching slightly. Jiggling. Lucius was scared. He knew that such a quick decision-making process could only mean one thing. Complete exoneration, or life-long incarceration.

'The Wizengamot has heard the case brought against Lucius Abraxas Malfoy,' Marchbanks said, her voice carrying easily throughout the courtroom. Harry ripped his gaze up to her, his heart suddenly beating hard in his chest. They had to make the right call. They _had to_.  
'And we have passed the following sentence: For the crime of Malicious intent to cause grievous bodily harm, we pronounce you guilty.'  
Harry let out his breath in a rush as he sagged forward, relief flooding through him. He turned his head to see Draco, eyes closed, arms wrapped around himself as he drew in a shuddering breath.

Marchbanks was still speaking. 'Accessory to murder: Guilty.'  
Harry watched Draco, impatient for the whole thing to be finished now. They needed to get out of here.  
'Accessory to the use of deadly force: Guilty.'  
Draco straightened up and opened his eyes, clearly forcing himself back under control. His eyes met Harry's and Harry saw the turmoil of emotions he was holding back. Then Draco turned his gaze to his father and Harry looked back at Lucius as well.  
'Accessory to abduction of a minor: Guilty.'

Lucius was sitting straight-backed and proud, as though he were hearing the weather report, but under the table, Harry could see his fingers gripping hard into his leg.

'The sentence is life imprisonment in Azkaban,' Marchbanks finished. 'No parole.'  
Suddenly Lucius' fingers went slack and the energy seemed to leave his body. He slumped forward. Giles turned to him, whispering urgently, but Lucius didn't respond.  
Harry didn't spare him another glance.

Marchbanks rose from her seat and the courtroom rose with her.  
'Can you finish the shift for me?' Harry asked Jones, his eyes on Draco, who was looking a little lost, as though he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He barely waited for her affirmative before he was across the room, pulling Draco from his seat. Draco stepped over the rail, his movements slow, and Harry put an arm around his waist, guiding him from the courtroom before the crowd had a chance to filter down from the stands.  
They made their way up the stairs quickly, Harry not saying anything and Draco seemingly lost in his own head. Harry guided him through the Ministry until they were at the Apparition point, then he pulled Draco close and Apparated them with a crack.

They landed in Harry's lounge room, and Harry wrapped both his arms around Draco, holding him close. Draco took one big, shuddering breath, and then another, and then he was crying, his arms coming up around Harry as he buried his face in Harry's neck, his tears soaking through the collar of his robes.  
Harry pressed a kiss to Draco's hair and held him closer, trying to press his strength and his love into him. He rubbed a hand up and down Draco's back, letting him know he wasn't alone. Draco's body heaved with the force of his sobs and Harry felt his own chest twist in pain. He didn't want to see Draco hurting.

He let his arms loosen for just a second, just long enough to unbutton Draco's robes and slide them off his shoulders, then he slid out of his own Ministry robes and pulled Draco by the hand to the couch. He was still sniffing and hiccupping, wiping at his eyes as though ashamed of his outburst. Harry's lips quirked into a wry smile as he thought about how much worse a state Draco had seen him in.  
He lay back on the couch and pulled Draco down beside him. Draco put his head on Harry's chest and his leg between Harry's, and Harry resumed his gentle stroking up and down Draco's back.

Draco's aching sobs had stopped now, but Harry could feel his t-shirt getting wet and could hear Draco's occasional sniffs. He just continued his gentle touch, content to have Draco in his arms and be able to offer him some form of comfort.  
Finally Draco sat up slightly, and Harry held out his hand, a box of tissues flying into it. Draco rolled his eyes but took a few, wiping at his face.  
'I don't know why I'm upset,' he said, voice thick. 'He's a bastard.'  
Harry shrugged slightly and Draco laid his head on Harry's shoulder this time. He put his arm around Harry's chest and Harry pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his hair.  
'He's still your father,' he said. Draco huffed a bitter laugh but didn't say anything.

They lay in silence a while, Draco dabbing at his eyes occasionally. Harry looked down at him, a thought occurring.  
'I'm not much of a singer,' Harry admitted with a smile. 'But I'll try if you want.'  
Draco huffed a laugh into his neck and then pressed a kiss against his skin. 'Just this is nice,' he said, and Harry resumed the slow, soothing strokes against his back.

\------

They were having breakfast together the next morning when the Floo flared to life and Hermione stepped through. She stopped at seeing Draco sitting at Harry's kitchen table, a knee drawn up on the chair, clearly dressed in a pair of Harry's old Auror Force joggers and Harpies t-shirt. Harry glanced across at him to see his response and took in Draco's appearance properly. His hair was mussed and he looked as though he'd just been shagged. Harry wondered what he looked like and shifted slightly, wincing at the ache up the backs of his legs as he did so. 

'So the papers weren't overstating it, then?' she said archly. 'Good morning, Draco. What a pleasure to see you.'  
'What papers?' Harry asked, offering his cheek for her peck as she moved over to the coffee machine.  
'All of them,' Hermione said over her shoulder. 'They're running a dual front page. Seems no one can figure out whether Lucius Malfoy being incarcerated or speculation over whether Draco Malfoy is boffing the Chosen One should be the top story.'

She turned to face them, leaning against the counter and bringing her mug up to her lips, blowing lightly as she arched an eyebrow at them both.  
'Stop enjoying it so much,' Harry muttered at her, groaning at the thought of the hordes of reporters he was going to have to start dodging again.  
Hermione shrugged. 'I assume it's worth it?'  
Harry looked over at Draco, sitting in his kitchen, eating a breakfast he'd cooked, and he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. He nodded and Draco rolled his eyes at Harry's sappiness, although Harry could see a pleased quirk to his lips.

'What are you doing here?' Harry asked, turning back to Hermione. 'I assume you didn't just come to tell me I'm all over the papers again?'  
Hermione shook her head, moving forward to sit at the table, pulling some pieces of parchment from her pocket as she did.  
'I've figured out what's going on with your magic. I had the owl back from Xenophilius yesterday.'  
'Xenophilius?' Draco asked, and they both looked across at him.  
'Lovegood,' Hermione said. 'He's been directing me to people who've done research around -' she flicked a glance at Harry who nodded, confirming he'd told Draco.  
'He's directing me to people who've done research around the Deathly Hallows and the mythology surrounding the Master of Death.'

'What do you mean mythology?' Draco asked, looking at Harry. 'I thought you said that's what you were?' Harry realised as Draco spoke, that they'd not come back to the conversation since he'd blurted the information out the week before. He opened his mouth, but Hermione beat him to it.  
'He is,' she confirmed. 'But we think he's the first. I've been working to track the Hallows through history, starting from the time of the Peverell brothers. As far as I can tell, the Hallows have never been mastered by the same person simultaneously until now.'

Draco's face was skeptical. 'How can you know that?'  
Hermione leaned forward, her face lighting up. 'It's actually relatively simple. We know that the cloak has been in Harry's family line, passed down to the first-born of each generation since Ignotus Peverell. The Elder Wand is easy to follow through history if you know what to look for. At no point was it held by a descendant of Ignotus. The stone is harder to follow, but we can assume it's been held in Cadmus Peverell's family and eventually made its way into the Gaunt ring,' she shrugged. 'That's a simple cross-reference as well.'

Harry smiled at her, knowing there was nothing simple about what she'd just said. There was weeks of work in that research alone. She waved him off as if reading his thoughts. 'It’s nothing. The Librarian did most of it anyway. He has quite the interest in the Hallows, it turns out.'  
Draco's gaze was back on Harry. 'So Harry is the first to become master of all three Hallows?' he confirmed, face troubled, and Hermione nodded, her own face becoming grave.  
'What does that mean?' Draco asked.

'That's what I've been trying to establish,' Hermione said, gesturing at the papers she'd placed on the table. Draco scooped them up without a glance at Harry and began reading, his eyes flicking rapidly over the pages one by one.  
'You're wearing the collar,' Hermione noted nonchalantly, the slight darkening to her cheeks giving away her embarrassment about the reasons Harry might do that.  
Harry smiled at her, feeling the ache in his wrists and his arse, remembering the stinging blows down his thighs and the release he and Draco had both found from their turmoil of emotions the night before.

'It's helping?' she asked, not quite meeting his eyes.  
Harry shrugged. 'Yes … and no.'  
Hermione looked at him, confused.  
'It helps while I'm wearing it, but the moment I take it off, it's like my magic has been building up behind it. It's almost impossible to hold back.'

At the sharp look of interest in Hermione's eyes, Harry rubbed Draco's leg under the table. Draco looked up from the papers and Harry indicated his collar. Draco stood and walked around the table to him, stopping in front of him and lifting his hands to the leather, caressing Harry's neck lightly as he did. Harry let his eyes fall closed, and then Draco's nimble fingers were working the buckle and the collar came loose from his neck.

He spared a moment to mourn the loss of the sensation of it pressing against his throat and then he had to focus on holding his magic tight. He could feel it spill over and out, hear Hermione's gasp as the kitchen rattled around them.  
After a few moments it stopped and Harry opened his eyes to see the room was … off. It was a bright green. Harry's eyes flicked to Draco's and the slight smirk on Draco's face told Harry he realised it was the green Harry used when he gave consent for his forms.

The dishes on the sink had vanished and the tiny pot plant in the window was now shading half the room. The fire was flaring bright and hot.  
Harry took a deep breath and concentrated, not on specific spells, but on the outcome he wanted - on changing everything back to normal.  
After a moment the room began to shift, things reverting to the way they were.

'How long had you been wearing the collar?' Hermione asked, looking around the room, voice troubled.  
'Since last night,' Harry answered. 'Less than twelve hours.'  
Hermione frowned. 'So if you wore it for any length of time, when you took it off …'  
'I could level a city block,' Harry agreed. Hermione flinched, but then seemed to gather herself.

'I thought about splitting the Hallows,' she said. 'To give mastery of them to other people.'  
'I've been thinking about that too,' Harry said, 'And I don’t think it will work. I've given the cloak to other people before. Loads of times. It doesn't make a difference. I think it has to be passed down to my child - to my blood.' He swallowed dryly and saw Draco's eyes flick across to him.  
'The resurrection stone is gone,' he said. 'It's lost in the forest and that's where it needs to stay.'  
'And the Elder Wand is too dangerous to have back in circulation,' Hermione finished with a frown. Harry nodded.

'This,' Draco interrupted them, 'What you've written here, at the end, about time. You think this could work?'  
Hermione looked startled for a moment, then she nodded slowly. 'It's just a concept, based on my conversations with Xenophilius and my research -'  
Draco nodded. 'There are risks, though, with this sort of thing. That's why they're Unspeakables.'  
Hermione considered him before nodding slowly. 'It’s still just an idea.'  
Draco's eyes were back on the papers. 'It's a good one. It makes sense. So you just need to channel the connection.'  
'Or sever it,' Hermione murmured, watching him.  
Harry watched him as well, looking between them, no idea what they were discussing. Draco was flicking his thumb over his fingers, the way he did when he was deep in thought. Harry couldn't decide between letting him think and demanding answers.

Hermione rose from the table, placing her hand on Harry's arm. To Harry's surprise, Draco rose too. 'Can I come with you?' he asked. 'I mean - not to your house, but to the archives, to wherever you've been researching? I need to find a few things, and the Manor -'  
Draco frowned, and Harry knew he was thinking of how the Ministry had seized the entire estate. Draco hadn't been upset about the loss of the building, per se. In fact he'd even advocated for it to be rehabilitated and turned into the base for the new Magical-Muggle Education Reform headquarters, eventually to become a school.

No, it was the loss of the Manor's contents that bothered him. He'd been denied access to the Malfoy libraries while his father had lived there, and now the Ministry was blocking him too. Harry had tried to inquire, but he'd been told Draco couldn't look at the books until they'd all been catalogued and verified to ensure none contained dark or dangerous magic. Harry had been ready to take the matter further, but Draco had told him to save his energy.

'You're welcome to come with me,' Hermione said. 'I was going into work for a few hours anyway. I'll meet you at the Ministry in thirty minutes?' She looked him up and down, a faint grin on her face. 'Once you've had a chance to … freshen up.'  
'What?' Draco asked distractedly, gaze on the papers in his hand again. 'Yes, of course.'  
He bent down to place a brief kiss on Harry's hair as he walked from the room.  
Hermione was left looking at Harry, amused fondness on her face.  
'That was … not at all what I expected to find when I came here today.'  
Harry smiled at her. 'He's nothing like I would have expected either.'

\-----

It was another two days before he saw Draco or Hermione again. He'd got an owl from each of them so similar that he figured they were holed up somewhere together. He would have been concerned, except he figured that if anyone could sort out what was happening with his magic, they could.  
Towards the end of his mid-week shift, Hermione appeared in his office doorway. Harry looked up, surprised. She almost never came to see him.  
'We want to try something,' she said, not bothering with a greeting. 'Come down to level nine when you're done here.'  
'The Department of Mysteries?' Harry asked, wanting to make sure he'd got it right.

Hermione nodded.  
'I haven't been inside that room since …'  
Hermione looked sympathetic. 'Me neither. But I started visiting them a few weeks ago, telling them I was researching, and -' she shrugged. 'It's not so bad in the daytime.'  
Harry sighed and pushed to his feet. 'May as well get it over with,' he said. 'This is what you and Draco were discussing the other day, isn't it? About time?'  
Hermione glanced at him and nodded, but didn't say anything more until they were in the lift, descending to level nine.

'It's not the Hallows that are the problem,' Hermione said, casting a Muffliato around them. 'You've been the Master of the Hallows for years, but you've never actively drawn on their power. They've been dormant, right?'  
Harry nodded.  
'I spoke to Xenophilius, and asked him to check with his contacts about whether there was any reference to the Hallows creating more powerful magic in the wielder. There's not, aside from the Elder wand. That was what made me think, maybe it's not the Hallows that are causing your magic to grow like this.'

The lift pinged open and they stepped out, Hermione striding down the corridor towards the door at the end. Harry shivered slightly. He always turned straight for the stairs when he got out of the lift. He didn't even like to look down the corridor that had haunted his dreams for so long. The corridor that had led to a series of mistakes, ending in Sirius' death.  
Harry swallowed heavily and followed Hermione. She cast a charm at the door at the end, opening it, and he stepped through behind her.

They were in the circular room again, and the walls were covered in doors.  
'Try not to look,' Hermione advised, sensing his nervousness.  
Harry nodded and as the doors began to spin he watched her. Hermione waved her wand through the air, and a sideways figure eight glowed in the air for a moment before sweeping across the room to attach itself to one of the doors.  
When they all stopped spinning she walked towards it.  
'The time room?' Harry asked.

Hermione nodded.  
'Did they ever fix the damage we did?' he asked.  
Hermione hesitated. 'Kind of. That's part of why they're so interested to meet you.'  
She opened the door with the glowing infinity symbol on it and they stepped through. It looked just like Harry remembered. The walls were covered in ticking clocks of all shapes and sizes, and light danced among them, flexing and reflecting.  
Harry looked across at the wall where all the Time-Turners had been, but it was blank. There were no Time-Turners, no shelf. The wall had been left bare, as though it was waiting for something.

Harry looked around as Draco walked towards him, smiling. Beside him was a small, wiry woman with frizzy red hair.  
'This is Maggie,' Draco said, gesturing her forward.  
'Not my real name, of course,' Maggie said, barking a laugh. 'Have to kill you for that one. Ha!'  
Then she cocked her head on one side. 'I wonder what would happen if you were to die,' she said, stepping closer and looking at him curiously. She looked across at Hermione. 'Do you think the loop would dissipate, or would it rewind itself as a preservation instinct?'

Maggie's hand drifted towards her wand seemingly unconsciously as she spoke and Draco had to clear his throat twice before she snapped herself out of it.  
'Ha! Yes, well, interesting as that would be, not what we're here for, is it?'  
Harry looked at the three of them, confusion mounting in him. 'What exactly are we here for?'

'I came up with the idea,' Hermione said, 'But Draco was the one who figured out how to make it work.'  
'What idea, Hermione?' Harry asked, beginning to get exasperated.  
'You've embedded yourself in the flow of time,' Draco said, with a roll of his eyes at the other two. 'We think when you stopped the bomb at the New Years party, you drew on your power and the power of the Hallows to force yourself into contact with time. Instead of it being a one-off, you did it again when you saved me. You must have deliberately anchored yourself in the time stream somehow.'  
Harry shook his head, not understanding.

'It's why your magic is fluctuating so badly,' Hermione said. 'You're drawing excess energy constantly, from the life of everything around you. When it bursts out of you, it's changing things back and forward in time. A plant grows, a wall reverts to a previous colour, a brick becomes clay.'  
Harry frowned. 'So the Hallows aren't the problem?'  
Draco shook his head while Hermione shrugged. Maggie just looked at him like he was an interesting experiment.

'You've lived with the Hallows for years with no issues,' Draco said. 'If we can unlink you from time, you should be fine, provided you don't draw on their power again.'  
Harry let out a deep breath. 'Okay, so what does 'unlinking' me look like?' he asked, eyeing the three of them.  
'That's the idea Draco had,' Hermione said. 'Quite a good one actually.'  
Draco rolled his eyes at her. 'Yes, well, I was a very close second to you in school, remember.'

He gestured to a golden sphere on the table to their right and Harry recognised it immediately. It was a Time-Turner, far larger and more ornamental than the one Hermione had used in school.  
'Where did you get that?' he asked. 'I thought they were all destroyed.'  
Draco hummed noncommittally. 'It was among my father's possessions. He always did like shiny things. Maggie's team managed to get hold of it and we duplicated it,' he said, gesturing at a row of them on the wall that Harry hadn't noticed when he walked in, 'just in case we need to repeat this. They haven't been activated, though,' he said, looking at Harry with serious eyes. 'There's no time in them.'  
'That's where you come in,' Maggie said, stepping forward, a wide grin on her face.  
Harry had to stop himself from taking a step back.

'What exactly does 'unlinking' me look like?' he said again, looking between the three of them.  
'It's not dangerous,' Hermione said.  
'It's not totally risk-free,' Draco argued.  
'It's fine,' Maggie said. 'There's books about how to do this. Timekeepers used to harvest time all over the place, back in the beginning. Before we lost the ability to trap it.' She was eyeing Harry with a hungry look.

Draco stepped up to Harry's side, putting a hand on his arm. 'It will only be an issue if you fight against it. Basically, Maggie will use a spell to pull the excess energy from the time continuum out of you and into the turner.'  
'And then I'll be fixed?' Harry asked.  
Draco hesitated. 'We're not sure. We don't know how you connected yourself to time in the first place. This might sever that connection, or it might not. You may have to come back here every few months and drain the magic off again.'

Harry let out a sigh, looking at the three of them, then at the device that was now in Maggie's hands.  
'You think this is the right choice?' he asked Hermione and she nodded, her eyes clear and certain.  
'Right,' he said. 'Fine. Should I sit down or someth-'  
Maggie began casting before he'd even finished speaking, her wand moving in intricate patterns that glowed silver in the air, flying from her wand to swirl around him. 

Draco squeezed Harry's arm for a moment before he stepped back. The glowing symbols continued to surround Harry. The ticking of the clocks all around the room seemed to increase in volume, until it was all he could hear.  
The symbols glowed more brightly, until they were all he could see.  
He could feel his magic rising to the surface, as if drawn to them, and he forced himself to relax, to let it. Draco had said this would be safe as long as he didn't fight it. He trusted Draco.

The magic leapt from his fingertips, a spark of it joining one of the intricate shapes. There was the toll of a bell, louder than all of the ticking and then his magic was pouring from him. A stream, a torrent, a flood. He couldn't control it and he didn't try. He let the excess flow from him gladly, spreading his fingers wide and squinting as he watched the symbols glow brighter and brighter.

Finally it slowed, and he felt his own magic, deep within, resisting the pull, clinging to him, while what didn't belong slid away. Harry let the last of it go and then closed his fists. The moment he did, all the clocks stopped ticking and a shockwave of force echoed through the room. The symbols vanished in an instant and Harry was left standing, looking at the three awestruck people facing him. Even Maggie looked stunned.

Draco rushed forward a moment later, cupping Harry's cheek and looking into his eyes.  
'How do you feel?' he asked, face full of concern.  
Harry thought for a moment, taking an internal catalogue. He felt settled, at home in his own skin in a way he hadn't been for far too long.  
'I feel good,' he said with a grin. 'I think it worked.'  
Draco snorted in disbelief. 'Harry fucking Potter,' he said, shaking his head. 'Only you could walk around with the power of a sun inside you and hold yourself together.'

Harry looked at him and then his eyes widened as he caught sight of the glowing golden orb in Maggie's hands and the other dozen on the wall behind them, all growing similarly bright.  
'Harry,' Hermione said, her voice shaky and small. 'Just one of those holds fifty times as much power as the one I had access to at Hogwarts …' her voice trailed off and then she rushed forward, hugging him tightly.  
'You stupid, stubborn man,' she said into his neck, her voice muffled. He felt the wetness of her tears against his skin and brought up his arms to hold her close, resting his cheek on her hair.

He watched Draco over Hermione's head. Draco just shook his head, a rueful grin hovering on his lips. 'Fall in love with Harry Potter, they said.'

Harry felt his heart leap at the words, and he thought the grin he gave Draco in return might just outshine the glow of time all around them.

\----

_Two months later_

'Go,' Pansy said, pushing at Draco. 'I'll take Scorpius through the Floo like a normal person and you can ride that sexy death wish with your boyfriend.'  
'I do _not_ want to ride Potter's motorcycle,' Draco said, glaring at her.  
'Is that so?' Harry said, rubbing a towel over his hair and watching the two of them bicker with a smile on his face. 'Because I distinctly remember, the last time we went for a ride on it, that you had your hands down my pants before I'd even landed it. And the moment I had it in the garage, you bent m-'  
' _Yes_ ,' Draco interrupted loudly over the top of Pansy's snort. 'Well, a man can't be blamed for his reaction to a life or death situation.'

Harry just hummed. 'So is that a no, then? Do I have to go to my birthday party - my _thirtieth_ birthday party - all alone?'  
Draco huffed at him and Harry's grin broadened. 'Well if you're going to insist, then I suppose I could.'  
'Great,' Harry said standing up and throwing the towel in the direction of Draco's hamper. Pansy rolled her eyes at the two of them. 'I'll finish getting your son ready, will I Draco?'  
Draco waved his hand at her, not taking his eyes off Harry and she left, muttering under her breath.  
'Do you want to wear my leather jacket again?' Harry asked, turning his attention back to Draco.

Draco mumbled something and Harry stepped closer.  
'Sorry, I didn't quite catch that,' he said, leaning in so his ear was close to Draco's mouth. Draco smelled delicious, a hint of citrus tang underneath the various creams and potions Harry now knew he used. Draco's bathroom routine took close to an hour on a bad day.  
'I said,' Draco growled in his ear, hands coming up to cup Harry's arse and pull him in closer. 'The jacket looks better on you.'

Harry groaned and arched into Draco's touch. Draco's mouth moved to Harry's neck and he bit lightly. Harry tilted his head to one side to give him better access and Draco nosed at the skin there, nudging aside the thin strip of leather Harry wore constantly. The one he'd found in Draco's bedside drawer when he was looking for lube. The one he'd thrown at Draco's feet all those months ago.

Harry rolled his hips against Draco's slowly and groaned again. Draco bit him in response, teeth sinking into the sensitive spot where the muscle travelled down to his shoulder. Draco drew back, licking softly over the spot before pushing Harry away.  
Harry tried not to pout with disappointment, but Draco's raised eyebrows showed him he'd failed.  
'Hurry up and finish getting ready,' Draco said. 'It will take us at least an hour to get there on that contraption. And the party starts in fifteen minutes.'

Harry just laughed. 'It's the Burrow. There'll be people everywhere. No one is going to notice whether I've arrived on time, trust me.'  
Draco frowned, fussing at his sleeves again. He was wearing dark trousers and a light blue shirt. He'd rolled the cuffs up twice and then rolled them back down.  
'Leave it,' Harry said, stepping closer again and stilling his movement. 'It's fine. Everyone there knows you. They know you're with me and that you're a good person. A bit of old ink on your arm makes no difference to that.'

Draco frowned at him. 'Yes, but -'  
'No buts. Molly and Arthur were perfectly nice to you when we had them for dinner last month and you had your mark showing then too. It's fine. Let's go and have a good time, okay?'  
Draco nodded, dropping his hands, and Harry grabbed an elastic band from the dresser. He twisted his still-damp hair into a loose bun and reached for Draco's hand.  
'Let's go, we're going to be late.'  
Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry and then delivered a stinging smack to Harry's arse that had him yelping and then swaying back into Draco's space, heat rushing through him.

Draco shook his head, a smirk on his lips as he pointed at the door. Harry huffed a sigh.  
'Tonight?' he asked, aware there was a plaintive note in his voice. But he couldn't be expected to fight that. It had been three days. Three days since Draco had let him orgasm. Sure, they'd done other things in that time but -  
'Maybe,' Draco said, his smirk deepening, 'If you're good.'

Harry scowled at him and left the room, collecting his jacket from the arm of the chair as he called out to Scorp that he would see him soon. He got back an excited. 'For your party, Harry! I'll be there.'  
Harry smiled as he made his way down to the street where his bike was disillusioned in front of Draco's flat. Draco followed him a moment later, climbing on behind him with an eagerness that belied his protests. Harry bit his tongue, stopping the teasing that came to his lips. He knew he'd made the right choice a moment later when Draco slid tight against him, legs wrapping around him and one hand slipping inside his jacket to rub lightly over his nipple through his t-shirt.

Harry fought the urge to groan as he fired the bike up, kicking the stand and sending it rumbling into the street. He rode slowly, obeying the city speed limits and enjoying the way the huge machine rumbled between his thighs and how Draco felt pressed against his back. Draco's hands moved over him slowly, not in any deliberate attempt to get him worked up, just in a leisurely exploration that was somehow far more arousing. He loved how well Draco knew his body now.

Once they were clear of the city Harry gunned the engine, opening the throttle and enjoying the feeling of the wind whipping against him. Draco always complained that it ruined his hair, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion it reminded him of flying and that he really didn't mind at all. Harry glanced around them, seeing no traffic and then hit the disillusionment charm. The air turned slightly hazy around them and Harry grinned in anticipation.  
'Ready?' he yelled over his shoulder.  
In answer Draco's hands dropped to Harry's hips and he felt a hard length press momentarily against his arse.

He didn't let it distract him. He knew he'd only get what he wanted when Draco was ready to give it to him. Instead he pulled back the throttle hard and fast, peeling the bike up onto its back wheel in one smooth motion, from there he nudged the charm with his heel and the bike flew smoothly into the sky.  
Harry couldn't help the whoop of joy that rose in his throat as they left the ground behind, rising far above the treetops. Behind him he heard Draco's soft chuckle and he pushed them faster, enjoying the feeling of being up here, with just Draco and no one else around them.

His party would be good, he knew. His whole family was coming. Charlie had even come back from Romania, and Sue, Jones and a few from work were coming. Nev, Luna and some of the others from the annual Hogwarts get-together would be there. It would be good. An occasion to celebrate. The start of something new.  
But mostly Harry was just happy where he was right now, flying through the sky with Draco close behind him, as though no one else existed.

The flight felt a lot shorter than it was, and it was too soon before Harry was descending to the ground, pulling them into a hard dive and a spinning stop that had Draco slapping him lightly on the side and several party-goers whooping in approval.  
Harry kicked the stand down and Draco slid off the bike, patting at his hair and straightening his shirt.  
'You look brilliant,' Harry said, leaning in for a kiss, unable to help himself. Draco's face was glowing from the wind and the excitement of the ride. The way his hair was tangled reminded Harry of nothing so much as how it looked after sex.

Draco sniffed, looking him up and down with eyes that lingered too long to be anything but appreciative. 'Yes, well you look like a bird flew into your hair and took up residence,' he said, reaching across to tuck a curl behind Harry's ear. Harry grinned at him, turning his head quickly to press a kiss against Draco's palm.

'Seriously?' came a cry from the gate and Harry glanced across to see Ron approaching. 'You've been here less than one minute. I timed it. You've been on the ground for thirty-six seconds, mate,' he said as he pulled Harry into a hug. Harry laughed, returning the embrace.  
'Happy birthday,' Ron said as he stepped back, before turning to Draco and extending his hand.  
'Malfoy.'  
'Weasley,' Draco said in return, shaking his hand.

Harry rolled his eyes at the two of them and their stubborn refusal to use each other's names, and then linked his arm with Draco's. 'Let's go in. I'm starved.'  
'You just ate an hour ago,' Draco said, eyeing him.  
'Yes, but I'm a growing boy,' Harry said with a wink. 'It's my birthday, didn't you hear? Besides, Molly's catered and you haven't lived until you've been to a party Molly's catered.'

They walked through the gate behind Ron and Harry stopped as he took in the display before him. The Burrow was overtaken with bunting and streamers, and everywhere there were pictures of Harry's head looking down at him laughing or winking or giving some official speech.  
Harry aimed a stinging jinx at Ron's leg and he yelped, turning around with a smile.  
'Oi! I only did half of it, you know.'  
'Who -' Harry began, then he spotted George, underneath the largest banner, which read, 'Harpy Beet-day.' On it was a picture of a harpy with her mouth wide open, about to sink her fangs into a pile of beets.

Harry laughed and pulled Draco in his direction but Draco had spotted Scorpius down by the veggie garden, playing a crazy game of chase with a pile of red-headed children. Harry glanced over and saw Rose in amongst them as well. Teddy was standing at the sidelines, watching them with the air of someone who was too old for such games, but also really thought it looked like a lot of fun. He gave the boy a wave, then spotted Hermione watching the playing children and waved to her too. She gave him a smile as he went to join George, scooping up a glass of punch and a cream bun on his way over.

He spent the next hour circulating the party, trying to say hello to everyone, gravitating back to Draco occasionally, but mostly just enjoying himself and being around people who loved him.

The sun was starting to set when Harry walked over to where Ginny was sitting on the swing, kicking idly back and forth as she watched the children playing and waited for Aiden to get back with her drink.  
'Hey, Gin,' he said, leaning against the trunk and remembering countless hot summers days out here, talking about everything and nothing. He glanced over and saw Draco watching him, his eyes returning to Arthur when he caught Harry's glance.  
'Hey,' she said, smiling at him and tilting back to swing a little higher.  
'Thanks for coming,' he said, focussing on her. 'It's good to see you.'  
'You too,' she said. 'Mum's been keeping me up to date. You look happy.'

Harry smiled back at her. 'I am. I really am. And you?'  
Ginny's smile widened and she kicked higher on the swing. 'I'm good,' she said as she swished back and forth. 'I feel like anything might be possible now, you know?'  
Harry looked across at Draco, who was examining what looked like a mobile phone and pointing out its various features to Arthur. He smiled, slow and deep.  
'Yeah,' he said. 'I know.'

It was dark when Molly disappeared back inside the house. Harry knew she'd gone to get his cake, and he followed her inside. She'd been running around all day making sure things were just right and he hadn't had a second to talk to her.  
'Want a hand?' he asked and she jumped slightly, turning to smile at him.  
'Harry, love, you startled me. And I didn't think I could be crept up on any more, with the number of children creeping around this house.'

Harry smiled. 'Sorry. I just wanted to come in and say thank you,' he said, trying to convey the depths of his gratitude. 'For all of this. It's amazing. Perfect.'  
Molly smiled, cheeks reddening slightly. 'It's nothing,' she said. 'No more than I'd do for any of my other boys.'  
Those words settled over Harry, sinking into him. Something must have shown on his face because Molly's expression went soft and she opened her arms.  
Harry stepped into her embrace and she held him tight.  
'Happy birthday, Harry, darling,' she said. 'I'm so glad to see you smiling again.'  
Harry held her back, not trusting himself to speak.

She stepped back after a moment, turning back to her task.  
'If you want to help,' she said, 'You can carry the cake. It's a heavy thing and I don't trust a levitation charm on it. Things like that have always have an odd tendency to dump desert on people's heads in this house.'  
Harry grinned and moved over to the bench, lifting the large H-shaped cake, smiling at the Gryffindor red and Slytherin green she'd piped around the edges.

After the cake and the singing and the well-wishing, the guests began to leave in twos and threes. The night was mild and twinkling lights lit the yard in a sparkling glow. The kids were still moving around in a loosely formed pack, though they were slower now.  
Harry excused himself and found Draco, deep in conversation with Hermione about some obscure point of law, by the sounds of it.  
'Talk work on work time,' he said, giving Hermione a wink as he pulled Draco away.

'That was interesting,' Draco protested, as he let Harry lead him towards the double swing seat set up in the yard.  
'It's my birthday for,' he checked the time quickly, 'two and a bit more hours.'  
'You're a brat,' Draco said, a look of mock-surprise on his face.  
Harry leaned in to steal a kiss. 'You love it.'  
Draco hummed noncommittally but his fingers tightened around Harry's and he stroked his thumb once over the back of Harry's knuckles.

They settled themselves into the seat, Harry leaning into Draco's side with his legs tucked up under himself, Draco's arm around his shoulders.  
There was faint music playing from the house, and around them in the darkness, the conversations were quiet, punctuated by occasional laughter.  
Harry let out a deep sigh, leaning his head on Draco's shoulder.  
'This is nice,' he murmured.

He waited for some snarky comment to come, but instead Draco just hummed in agreement. Harry smiled and ran his fingers over Draco's knuckles.  
Then Draco sat up slightly as Scorpius walked around the corner, climbing up to settle himself between them comfortably.  
Harry put an arm around the boy and Draco pushed lightly against the ground so that they swung back and forth on the swing together.

Scorpius looked up at Draco, his pale face shining in the soft light.  
'Do you know Rose's mama has an otter for a Paternus?' he asked, eyes wide and curious. 'And her papa has a dog, a small one.'  
'Pat-ro-nus,' Draco corrected gently and Harry had to smile as a memory of Hermione in first year flashed into his mind for a moment.  
'And yes, I did know that,' Draco continued.  
'Yours is a phoenix,' Scorpius said proudly. 'I told them.'  
'It is,' Draco agreed with a smile.  
'Can I see it, papa?' Scorpius asked, face hopeful.

Draco leaned down to place a kiss on his upturned forehead and then he reached into his shirt, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the night sky as he whispered the charm.  
A beautiful blue phoenix burst from the end of his wand, soaring into the sky, its mouth opened as it wordlessly sang into the darkness. It was a stunning sight, cutting gracefully through the air, its tail streaming behind it.  
'What's your Pa-tro-nus, Harry?' Scorpius asked, turning to him after a moment of watching the bird soar with rapt attention.

'Harry's is a s-' Draco began, his words drying up as Harry lifted his hand into the air, spreading his fingers and letting the phoenix glide from his hand.  
It soared up into the sky, joining Draco's, flying around it, as though teasing it.

Draco stared at it, eyes wide, a moment longer and then he turned to Harry.  
'When did it change?' he asked, voice hoarse.  
Harry shrugged one shoulder, smiling slightly. 'After that night at the Manor.'  
'That - that was months ago -' Draco's voice was raw with emotion  
Harry nodded again and Draco leaned forward over Scorpius' head, cupping Harry's cheek with one hand as he pulled him into a kiss that ached with tenderness.

Draco pulled back a fraction, to whisper. 'I love you. It scares me how much I love you.'  
Harry kissed him again, knowing everything he felt for Draco was circling in the night sky above them.  
Scorpius squirmed between them and Harry sat back at his cry of, 'eww, gross!'  
He laughed and Draco did too, stroking his hand over Scorpius' hair and tucking his son into his side.

The three of them sat together, looking up at the two phoenixes flying together through the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for coming on that journey with me. It's been an incredible one in so many ways. Finishing feels bittersweet, but I like the place we've left them
> 
> I'd love to know, as always about what you thought of that chapter, or the whole story. I'm always happy to chat on tumblr or discord as quicksilvermaid as well <3
> 
> If you liked Freedom, I would be forever grateful if you could rec it, or share it or even just tell one friend about it. 
> 
> Much, much love.  
> Q

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART: Names](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17106923) by [anokaba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anokaba/pseuds/anokaba)




End file.
